


Missing You

by Adanie_Josaeh



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Flirting, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark, Nurses & Nursing, POV Sandor Clegane, POV Sansa Stark, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Infidelity, Past Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Post-Quiet Isle Sandor, Recovering Addict Sandor, Secrets, Sexual Content, The Quiet Isle, Unresolved Sexual Tension, fair warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 64,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21848683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adanie_Josaeh/pseuds/Adanie_Josaeh
Summary: "Like I told you before, there was nothing for me out there.”“I was out there,” Sansa said, her voice sounding thick with emotion.  “I was waiting for you.  Missing you."~*~Sansa has had many thoughts of Sandor Clegane over the years.  She's experienced heart ache at his sudden absence from her life, anger that he never contacted her, and worry that something might have happened to him.  Vivid dreams of their short affair haunt her and she finds herself unable to fully commit to a relationship due to the lack of closure.(((CURRENTLY ON HIATUS)))
Relationships: Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 152
Kudos: 329





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so first of all, I feel ashamed to post anything new when I have a story I still haven't finished and haven't updated any 2 weeks...HOWEVER, if anyone is reading this note that also reads Things Left Unsaid, please know it's not abandoned. The next three chapters are written but are in HEAVY EDITING right now. My own little personal goal is to have it finished by New Years.
> 
> Secondly, this was not supposed to be the next published story...I wanted to post a canon-era story I've been working on, but this one wouldn't leave me alone, so...here it is! BUT updates on this one are very likely to be slower than they were with Next Door because, while I have an outline, I just don't have as much written yet (only 5 chapters so far). So I'm hoping to do updates every 2 weeks.
> 
> Also, there is some very minor Theonsa in this story (VERY MINOR). SanSan fans, please do not let that deter you from reading this. That pairing is not end game. And for anyone who reads this who likes Theonsa, sorry guys...I like Theon and I think he could turn out to be a pretty good guy, but for me, he's just not the guy for Sansa. He is NOT a bad boyfriend in this story. I refuse to vilify him because I love him. This is going to be one of those things where they just aren't right for each other...
> 
> Important note: Sandor in this story is post-Quiet Isle Sandor, meaning he isn't going to be near as mean or hateful. I've purposely toned down the attitude with him in this fic because I feel like what we'd see from him after years on the QI is a much calmer, much less hateful version of our favorite Hound. I don't think he's OOC by any stretch, BUT he's definitely not as growly. If anything, he's sad Sandor.
> 
> Couple of disclaimers: I'm not a nurse (I work in child support enforcement), so if I've completely gotten something wrong about traveling nursing, please forgive me. ALSO, I've never had an addiction or been to a treatment facility so forgive any glaring errors there as well. I've done research, but I'm aware it's nothing like living it. 
> 
> Anyway, this is obviously just the introductory chapter, so no SanSan yet, but I hope everyone enjoys!

_Her arms were pinned above her head, but inability to move didn’t scare her; rather, it caused more excitement._

_She felt his breath caress her as he nuzzled into her neck, his beard scratching against her skin, as he spoke into her ear. Chill bumps erupted across her body and she arched into him, turning her face towards his, desperate to feel his mouth on hers._

_His knees were placed on either side of her hips and she wriggled beneath him, yearning for the contact of his hips pressed to hers. He nipped at her ear, then her jaw, and finally, **finally** , he moved his mouth over hers…_

~*~*~*~*~*~

Sansa Stark bolted up in her bed, breathless and overheated. Her sheets clung to the sweat on her body and she struggled for a minute to untangle herself. She pushed the covers down to her ankles and lay back down; she hoped the breeze coming through her open bedroom window would help cool her. She looked to her right and saw that her dream had not disturbed Theon. He slept on peacefully, his mouth hanging open.

Sansa smiled a bit before the memory of her dream began to weigh on her. She draped an arm over her face and sighed heavily, frustrated that _he_ persisted in haunting her, even when her life was going so great!

Sansa threw her legs over the side of the bed and wrapped herself in a robe. The clock on the nightstand read 3:37 a.m. She crept into the kitchen and made herself a glass of water. And of course, because it was the early morning hours and she would have liked nothing better than to get back to sleep, her traitorous brain switched into high gear.

_Where is he? Why didn’t he contact me? Why did he just disappear? Does he still think about me?_

Seven years was a long time to pine over someone. _Especially someone who clearly doesn’t care about you_.

Sansa finished the rest of her water, then washed the glass and put it away. Theon wasn’t awake to tease her about her compulsive need to keep everything tidy, including barely used water glasses in the middle of the night. But Sansa prided herself over being a “neat freak” and she knew Theon secretly appreciated it; while he wasn’t obsessive over it like Sansa, he was particular about neatness as well. It was a completely different world living with him than it had been living with Arya.

Sansa couldn’t help but shake her head at the thought of her younger sister. The Stark girls were different as night and day. Sansa was always polite, courteous, and soft-spoken at times, and while growing up, she had always been mature for her age. Arya was loud, rude, wild, out-spoken, and consequently, much more fun than her older sister, or so Sansa had been told numerous times. At twenty-five years old, Arya hadn’t yet decided what she wanted to do with her life. Sansa, only a couple of years older, had been a traveling nurse for five years.

Sansa often worried about Arya. Her sister was working two jobs and sharing an apartment with a couple of roommates and Sansa constantly wondered if Arya had enough money to live on. And her youngest brother, Rickon, was much the same. He had decided not to enroll in college and was currently working odd jobs to pay for his part of the apartment that he shared with Arya and their other roommate, Hot Pie.

Sansa came from a large family, and being one of the older children, she had constantly tried to mother her younger siblings. Arya had never appreciated the gesture, being only two years younger. Bran, who was eighteen months younger than Arya, didn’t seem to mind. But then, he had wound up being more mature than most of the Stark children. Rickon was the baby, four years and a half years younger than Bran and just as rebellious as Arya.

Catelyn Stark’s youngest boy and girl had certainly done their part to put grey hairs on her head. She often laughed about it though, telling anyone who would listen that they kept her young. Catelyn often commented that Sansa, her oldest brother Robb, and her cousin Jon had made parenting so easy that she thought she was exceedingly good at being a mother…until the last three were born.

It wasn’t that Bran had ever purposely given her hell, but he’d been involved in an accident at the age of ten in which he’d been thrown from a horse and paralyzed from the waist down. The accident hadn’t truly slowed him down, of course, but the trauma of nearly losing him had caused its fair share of grey hairs to sprout in Catelyn’s auburn hair.

And of course, Arya and Rickon didn’t help the situation. Arya had spent her teenage years sneaking out of her window at night and skipping class to smoke in the bathroom. Rickon had begun bedding girls at the tender age of fourteen and Sansa’s parents had feared that he would come home one day and announce that Baby Stark was giving them their first grandchild. Thankfully, Rickon had learned quickly how to be careful. He’d been bedding girls for five years now and hadn’t presented their parents with a grandchild yet, for which Ned and Catelyn were grateful. Worrying about her siblings made Sansa lose almost as much sleep as she did when she dreamt of _him_.

Sansa slipped back into bed and propped her head up on her hand, watching Theon sleep. He was her brother Robb’s best friend and she had known him since she was a very young girl. She remembered that when she had turned twelve, she had suddenly noticed how handsome Theon was. It had been a hot summer day and the Starks had thrown a pool party. Sansa remembered seeing the lean muscles, dark tan, and cocky smile of the fifteen year old Theon and giggling conspiratorially with her friend Jeyne Poole.

While Sansa had always thought him handsome, she hadn’t ever really liked him _like that_. He had teased her throughout her teenage years, not maliciously, but enough to annoy her to no end. She was so pale, and so tall, and so freckled, and he just never _quit_. Only last year, when Theon had shown up at Rickon’s high school graduation, had Sansa taken an interest; and _that_ was only after Theon had taken an interest first.

Poor Robb was completely conflicted over their relationship. On one hand, he was happy that his sister and his best friend had found happiness with one another; on the other hand, Sansa was sure that Robb sometimes wanted to strangle Theon now that he was plagued with the knowledge that his buddy was sleeping with his baby sister. Theon had a very long history of women he’d “loved and left”, according to Robb, and Robb had threatened him countless times about treating Sansa right.

And he had treated her right. It seemed his interest in Sansa had settled him down. While it wasn’t quite a love match, they both enjoyed one another, and Sansa wasn’t ready to rule out what it could grow into in the future.

If only her own personal ghost would leave her alone.

It was bad enough that she was subjected to him in her dreams, but she couldn’t shut her brain off afterward either. The memories she had of him were so vivid that she wondered if she even remembered their encounter correctly. So many other memories had faded around the edges to the point where she only remembered the important details. But this one was different. She could recall with startling clarity the feel of his mouth pressing against hers, the strength in his arms when he lifted her against him, the taste of his tongue as it slid into her mouth, and the soft feel of his hair as she carded her fingers through the strands.

For the millionth time, she picked up her phone, opening one of her various social media accounts and typed in his name. Nothing came up, of course, just as nothing had come up the other million times she’d done it. So then she typed in the name of the person who had been the reason they met: Joffrey Baratheon.

His account was very active. Despite the fact that he probably should have been locked away somewhere, he’d gotten away with plenty and was likely still getting away with a lot. His profile photo showed a thin, blonde man, objectively good looking, but it made Sansa wrinkle her nose. Two women stood on either side of him, scantily clad and draped on his arms like trophy wives. Funny, that Joffrey’s actual wife didn’t appear in any of his photos.

He had married Margaery Tyrell, heiress to the Tyrell fortune, after Sansa had left him. It seemed that as long as the two of them left each other alone, that the marriage worked out rather well. Sansa didn’t envy her at all. She visited Margaery’s profile next, studying the lovely face of Joffrey’s wife. Margaery smiled happily at the camera, her cheek pressed against that of an old woman Sansa recognized as Olenna Tyrell. Her pretty brown eyes appeared happy enough, but Sansa often wondered if Margaery was just a very good actress. She couldn’t imagine anyone being truly happy with Joffrey.

Sansa tossed her phone onto the nightstand and slipped her robe off. She knew she was just trying to keep her brain busy so it wouldn’t drift to _him_. She couldn’t say why he’d affected her so profoundly. He hadn’t been the first man she’d taken to bed; Joffrey unfortunately had that honor. And she’d been with a few since him, though not many. But she silently admitted that there had been nothing before or since that she’d experienced that had been like what she shared with him.

Sansa had thought for a while afterward that he might have been in love with her. He was so attuned to her needs, so responsive to the attention that she showed him, as though he’d been waiting for that encounter for a lifetime. He’d been at least a little intoxicated at the time, but it hadn’t seemed to slow him down any. And he’d been looking at her in this peculiar sort of way… _for months_ …as though he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Not only had Sansa noticed his eyes on her, but she realized that she had begun watching him as well. The way he moved, the way his mouth twitched when he was angry, the way his eyes lit up a little when she entered the room, the way the tension left his body when they spoke, and then the way it tensed once again if she managed to touch him…those were all things that had tormented her in the months before they finally acted on it.

Then he’d left.

When Joffrey had found out that Sansa had been holed up all night with one of his employees, he’d lost his mind. Things were thrown. Sansa was called names, some of which she definitely felt she deserved at the time. Joffrey’s mother had gotten involved, and she had called her names as well. Joffrey slapped her and Sansa had firmly put her foot down at that point. Sansa had planned to end the relationship before, but Joffrey physically striking her had resulted in her leaving immediately with a small duffle bag of the clothes that he’d allowed her to pack. 

Ned Stark had come running when she’d called and Sansa had returned home immediately. Thankfully, all of her college credits had transferred and she was able to continue her education without missing a beat. In the initial few days after it happened, Sansa had tried to call her one-time lover several times. It went to voicemail every time and he never returned her calls. 

A few months after she returned home, she tried once more to reach him, finding that the number had been disconnected. She had struggled with his rejection for a long time after that. She’d had some relationships, but they fizzled out without truly going anywhere. Every few weeks, she found herself pulling up his name on social media, though he’d never been active on social media in the past, just to see if he finally created a profile. Once, when she’d been assigned to a nursing job in King’s Landing, she had even ran into an old acquaintance and found herself inquiring after him.

The acquaintance, Joffrey’s uncle Tyrion Lannister, had first looked at her shrewdly, then gave a sad smile. “I’m afraid no one’s heard from him, Sansa. He left right before you did and hasn’t been back since. I hear his brother doesn’t even know where he’s at.”

Sansa had scoffed, and muttered, “Well, he wouldn’t tell him anyway.”

Tyrion, being the nosy little gossip that he was, had tried to press her further about the missing man. It seemed that most everyone knew that there had been an indiscretion on Sansa’s part, but few people knew that it had been with someone Joffrey had a close connection with. Sansa had thought that Joffrey would likely tell everyone who she’d cheated on him with in order to make her look bad and gain sympathy. But Joffrey hadn’t publicly named his old employee as the man who cuckolded him and Sansa wondered if it wasn’t because Joffrey was ashamed at who had been “the other man”.

Tall, muscled, scarred, mean, and belonging to a much lesser social status than Joffrey, Sansa imagined that it would shame Joffrey more to name him than it would to just let everyone believe it had been some other handsome, well-off, spoiled brat that caught her eye. Sansa, ashamed at what she had done, had tried to avoid all talk of her affair. When she’d returned to Winterfell, her sister had heard enough of the rumors that she pestered Sansa for information. Sansa hadn’t given her much though, other than while she regretted indulging in an affair while still technically attached to Joffrey, she _didn’t_ regret acting on her feelings for the man. After some time, Arya got bored with Sansa’s evasive answers and left her alone.

In fact, everyone had pretty well moved on from the whole terrible experience. Sansa’s parents held no more shame about what had transpired. Her siblings were mostly glad she’d gotten away from Joffrey, not at all caring about what had caused the break. Her old friends seemed to think it was romantic that Sansa had found someone while living in the hell that was being in a relationship with Joffrey. Theon had told her a few months ago that Joffrey got what was coming to him and deserved a lot worse. He didn’t seem worried that she would ever make that mistake with him.

And she wouldn’t. It wasn’t in Sansa’s nature to be so blatantly traitorous to someone. But that’s why her thoughts disturbed her so. She had a good life, a good boyfriend, and she was truly happy.

But for whatever reason, she just couldn’t shake the memory of Sandor Clegane.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa was packing _again_ , and though she enjoyed the travel required for her job, Theon was looking kind of bitter about it. He had come over to her apartment to hang out with her before she left. They had enjoyed three months of her working in town rather than on the road and Sansa felt he’d gotten spoiled to her presence. During the time they’d been dating, she had been gone a lot for work, but had often taken long weekends to see him.

The last quarter, Sansa had been able to work in White Harbor, where both she and Theon had apartments. On weekends, they had driven the nearly six hours it took to get to Winterfell to visit Sansa’s family. Now, she was off to another job quite a long way from where she’d made her home. 

Sansa had been all over the place with her job. She’d spent the most time in the Riverlands near her extended family where she had accepted temporary jobs on four different occasions; she had made three trips to Lannisport to work there for twelve weeks at a time; she had enjoyed the warm weather of Horn Hill and the history and architecture of Old Town; she had burned her fair skin in Dorne during her stays at Sunspear and Lemonwood. Now, she was off to some tiny speck of an island she had never even heard of to work as a nurse for a substance abuse program.

Sansa had pulled up the website for the treatment facility to get a better idea of what she was getting into. The Quiet Isle was situated in the Bay of Crabs with Saltpans to the North and Maidenpool to the South. It sat at the mouth of the Trident. The pictures on the website were breathtaking. It looked peaceful and Sansa imagined that it was the perfect place for people to work on finding personal tranquility. It was a long-term facility and the information on the website indicated that many people stayed at least year in order to gain full advantage of the program.

In addition to offering numerous varieties of individual and group therapies, the facility also boasted acupuncture, massage, art therapy, equine therapy, yoga, tai chi, meditation, recreation therapy, an indoor swimming pool, and even personal training in a fully equipped gym. The patients’ rooms shown in the online photos looked comfortable and homey, not at all the clinically cold white and sterile rooms that Sansa had initially imagined. The patients were housed in tiny cottages dotted all along the isle to insure that they were given privacy when not participating in any of the programs. 

It was different than any other job Sansa had ever accepted, but she was excited to take on a new challenge. While working in hospitals could be difficult, she knew that working at a treatment facility with recovering addicts would require her to develop new skills in how to deal with patients and she was grateful for the opportunity.

“What’s this place called again?” Theon asked, not even trying to keep the pout off his lips.

“Hmm? Oh, it’s called the Quiet Isle. Very small island south of the Vale, near Saltpans. I’m staying in Saltpans the first couples of days though. The Isle has accommodations, but my schedule is overlapped with some of the nurses who are departing. But for the first few days I’ll have to catch the bus and then hop on the ferry to get to work.”

“Sounds exhausting,” Theon commented. “Seems like you’d get tired of all this travel at some point.”

Sansa gave him a look, raising her eyebrows at his negativity. “We’ve been through this before and we always survive,” she teased him. 

Theon shrugged and gave her a crooked smile. “Suppose I’ve gotten spoiled to you, Miss Stark.”

“We’ll still see each other when I get breaks,” she assured him.

“Why can’t you find a permanent position here? Surely there are plenty of job openings.”

Sansa nodded. “I’m sure there are, but I actually quite enjoy my job,” she reminded him. “I love seeing new places and meeting new people. And this is some place I’ve never been.”

“Sounds boring.”

“It’s an island!” She laughed. “It doesn’t sound boring at all.”

“It’s not a tropical island,” he reminded her. “And it’s full of drug addicts. Sounds terrible.”

“Theon!” Sansa admonished. “Have you never thought that perhaps I _like_ the idea of working with addicts? Maybe I can make a difference in someone’s life.”

“I would bet you make a difference in the lives of anyone you encounter,” Theon said quietly, smiling fondly at her.

“Such a suck-up,” she joked.

She was a little sad that she wouldn’t get to see her family before she left. Just as Theon had gotten spoiled to her presence, she had been delighted to drive up and see her parents for a couple of days at a time. Sansa checked the time on her phone and informed Theon that she needed to get going. The flight out of White Harbor was in three hours and Sansa never liked to be pressed for time. She’d land at a small airport in Saltpans, so at least she wouldn’t have to switch flights as she’d done so often before.

Theon drove her to the airport and they shared a quick goodbye kiss before she hurried off. As was her custom, she slept on the flight and woke up to realize she was still groggy. It had been a quick flight, but it was still late when she arrived at her hotel room. She checked in and collapsed on the bed, mentally noting that she needed to let everyone know she’d reached her destination safely.

Sansa dug her phone out of her purse and sent a text in her family’s group chat.

_Sansa: Just arrived in Saltpans. I’m pretty tired, but excited to start work tomorrow!_ _J_

**Arya: Excited to be stuck with a bunch of drunks on an island?**

_Sansa: Stop it! You sound like Theon._

**Arya: Eww. Don’t say that. How rude.**

**Mother: I’m glad you made it safely, sweetie. Get you a good night’s rest**

**Daddy: Be careful down there, Sansa.**

_Sansa: Dad, I’ll be fine. There are crazy patients everywhere._

**Bran: We’ll send Arya down to kick some ass if anyone messes with you.**

**Arya: Hells yeah, you know I’m up for it.**

_Sansa: I think I can handle myself. Thanks anyway. I’m going to bed now._

**Arya: Aww you’re no fun.**

**Daddy: Good night, San.**

**Catelyn: Sleep tight, baby girl. Long day tomorrow.**

Sansa put her phone on silent and plugged it up to the charger. The hotel bed was large, but seriously lacking in comfort. Sansa was sure that she could feel the mattress springs poking her in the back. Despite her claims that she was going to bed, she decided she needed a shower. She stripped off her clothes, then neatly folded them and placed them in her mesh laundry bag that she used for dirty clothes. Arya always made fun of her, telling her it was unnecessary to fold dirty clothes, but Sansa had always done it. 

She was relieved to find that the bathroom appeared clean. She opened up her toiletry bag, opting for her own shampoo, body wash, and conditioner, rather than using what the hotel provided. As she stood under the hot shower, her mind drifted off again to the man who stalked her dreams. She squeezed her eyes shut and let the hot water pound over her face. 

_There must be something wrong with me_. It had been so long. In the months that had followed the affair, Sansa hadn’t felt strange about mourning the loss of Sandor. He had essentially disappeared without a trace and she understood that her hurt feelings were normal. But as thoughts of him persisted, she began to think maybe she was a little crazy. It wasn’t normal to pine after someone who had vanished so many years before.

Many times when she was left alone on her work trips, spending time alone in an unfamiliar hotel room, she would imagine what it would be like if he were with her. She didn’t know what they would talk about. Their co-existence had been a miserable one because of Joffrey and they had never quite had a normal, boring conversation. But she imagined what it would be like to reach across her big, uncomfortable hotel bed and find him on the other side. She imagined strolling in the little shops she had seen in downtown Saltpans on her off days with him looming at her side. And she imagined what it would be like if he as in the shower with her now.

She squeezed her eyes tighter, unsure if she performed the action to try to make the images disappear or trying to see the details of his body with more clarity. 

Maybe he’d stand behind her, his muscular chest pressed against her back and his arms wrapped around her waist. Or maybe he’d turn her to face him, slipping his arms around her waist, pressing the front of their bodies together. He might hoist her up against the shower wall, pinning her with his strength, but she wouldn’t be frightened at all that he would drop her. She thought of how he would look with the water rivulets streaming over his long hair, rolling across his skin.

Sansa shook her head violently, trying to rid herself of the image. She quickly cleaned everything and shut the water off before she could let her mind drift to him again. If he ever appeared in her life again, she wondered if she would feel anything at all. Maybe the version of Sandor Clegane that plagued her thoughts wasn’t the real Sandor Clegane. She could’ve built him up in her memory for all these years, and perhaps if she saw him again, she’d find herself disappointed.

Strangely, every new place she went to, she secretly hoped she’d find him around the next corner. He couldn’t have just disappeared for true. It may have seemed that way, but he was certainly alive somewhere, living peacefully.

Right?

All the years that she had wondered about him, it never occurred to her, until just then, that he might _not_ be alive. What if something had happened to him? What if he had gotten sick? What if Joffrey had found him, killed him for sleeping with his girlfriend? 

Maybe he was alive and well, as she hoped, but living somewhere other than Westeros. He could have moved to Essos, had even expressed a desire to do so at one point. Maybe after he had left her to deal with Joffrey, he’d hopped on the first plane to the Free Cities and never looked back. Sansa had never been to Essos herself. For a minute, she had herself convinced that Sandor had fled across the Narrow Sea. It made sense. Joffrey may want to kill him, but even he wouldn’t waste resources tracking Sandor down in Essos.

Sansa frowned the longer she thought about it though. Running away just didn’t seem like something Sandor would ever do. He wasn’t a coward. As she thought back on his fierceness, his harsh truths, and his habit to ‘tell it like it was’, even to his employer, it seemed less likely that he would run away from the consequences of what they’d done. Would Sandor really have left her to deal with Joffrey on her own? 

Then again, maybe he had actually regretted what had happened between them. Sansa burrowed under the blankets on her uncomfortable bed as she thought back on the events of that night. He _had_ been drunk. _“Drunk as a dog,”_ he’d told her. Maybe once the alcohol had worn off, he’d changed his mind about her. Maybe he hadn’t truly wanted _her_ ; maybe any warm body would have sufficed at the time. 

Sansa pressed her face into the pillow, willing her brain to shut off and begging him to leave her alone. It wasn’t always this difficult. She had spells where he only crossed her mind in passing during the day. She would see a particularly tall man and it would remind her of him, but then she could successfully push those thoughts aside. Sometimes she’d see a well-built, bearded man with dark hair, and while it would call him to mind, she could forget him quickly.

Other times, it was like this. Relentless, pervasive thoughts about where he was, why he’d left her, what he’d felt for her… it was utter torment and Sansa hated days like this.

Somehow, eventually, she drifted off to sleep. She dreamed of him again, of course. But she didn’t sleep badly considering the anguish she’d felt before she’d drifted off to sleep. She rose early, picked out a pair of blue scrubs, and comfortable white tennis shoes. She braided her long, auburn hair back to keep it out of the way. She wasn’t sure exactly what her job would entail, but she was anxious to find out.

She took the bus down to the harbor and boarded the ferry to the Quiet Isle. Apparently, the ferry made trips from Saltpans to Maidenpool several times a day, stopping at the Quiet Isle on the way back and forth for the few employees who didn’t live on site. The boat was rather full, but Sansa learned quickly, from picking up on conversation, that most of the people on the ferry were bound for Maidenpool. She wondered if she’d be the only one getting off at the Quiet Isle on this trip.

When the ferry made its first stop, Sansa jumped up and hurried off the boat, noting that only two other people followed her. One was obviously another medical professional. He was blonde, slender, and he wore green scrubs. He gave her a small smile as he passed her, but didn’t say anything. The other passenger was a thin man with dark circles ringing his eyes; he wore clothes that seemed a bit disheveled, though clean. Sansa wondered if this was one of the patients.

There were hills surrounding the ferry landing that were large enough that Sansa couldn’t see what laid on the other side. Herons and storks waded through the shallow pools below the hills, unbothered by Sansa and the other two that had gotten off the ferry. Sansa followed the dirt path up the hill and once at its crest, she stopped a moment to take a look at the land. 

A stone wall encircled the top of the hill, enclosing the inner Isle where the buildings were located. The isle was a mixture of old and new. Sansa could see the brick buildings on the west side of the Isle, one of which was likely the clinic where she’d be working. On the other side, several very old-looking but well-preserved wooden buildings stood. A white barn stood with a pasture beyond it where a number of horses stood grazing. She could see cows and sheep as well and remembered reading that the Isle boasted its own diary farm. An old, but functional windmill was visible. Sansa noticed that a flight of wooden steps ran back and forth between the old and new buildings. Small cottages were dotted along the hill. Though the footpath was wooden, it didn’t stop dirt from gathering on Sansa’s shoes and she lamented the loss of the crisp cleanliness of her attire before she’d even set foot in the clinic.

As it turned out, Sansa’s job was fairly simple. She was one of only a dozen nurses on the isle who would look after the addicts in recovery. She would take the vital signs of any new arrivals and monitor those who were in active detox. She would also provide care for anyone who fell sick and assist the two doctors who were employed by the recovery program.

Sansa learned from chatting with her coworkers that the man who had founded the program, Ray Elder, had been a doctor for years with an interest in substance abuse and counseling. When he no longer found his job fulfilling and watched addicts die in the hospital, he had decided to establish a recovery program in a semi-isolated place away from the mainland.

Sansa settled in quickly, finding that her coworkers were also mostly traveling nurses. There were only four out of the twelve who worked on the island permanently, two middle aged women who gave Sansa motherly smiles and welcomed her warmly. The other two permanent nurses included a young man about Sansa’s age and an elderly lady that looked to be well into her seventies. The only doctor other than Dr. Elder was a young woman who couldn’t have been much older than Sansa. Unlike Dr. Elder, she wasn’t very friendly and always seemed highly anxious. Apparently, she hadn’t quite acclimated to the ups and downs of treating addicts in the few months she’d been working at the facility.

Three days into her new job, Sansa was able to leave her hotel room and move into a small cottage on the isle. It proved to be much more comfortable accommodations than her hotel had provided and it was certainly more convenient. For one, she could sleep later since she didn’t have to take a ferry from Saltpans. The bed was infinitely more comfortable and her cottage, though tiny, was cozy and warm. Sansa added some charm to her little room with a few decorations. Myranda, one of the other traveling nurses, had poked fun at her for decorating a room she’d only stay in for twelve weeks, but Sansa liked that it made her room feel more like home. 

Since she was staying on the isle, she no longer had to rush to meet the evening ferry and was able to explore. On her first off day, she watched the yoga classes taking place on the beach early in the morning. She wanted to join them, but wasn’t sure if she was allowed to partake in classes meant for residents. Later, she watched an archery class. At lunchtime, she was pleasantly surprised to discover that the food served in the dining hall was pretty good.

After lunch, Sansa decided to walk to the other end of the isle to explore the stables and the pastures. Her family had always kept horses at Winterfell, but Sansa had never been a skilled rider. Still, she thought horses were beautiful, so she found herself petting the nose of a grey mare. There were numerous horses grazing in the pasture, and a little further out, it looked like some riders were giving them exercise. She remembered that the website mentioned equine therapy and wondered exactly what that entailed.

Sansa walked up the hill to the stables and crept through the doors, unsure if she was actually permitted inside. The doors were open and there were a few patients within taking care of the horses, so Sansa assumed she was allowed. When a counselor she recognized nodded at her from where he was brushing down a young stallion, she was put at ease. 

It seemed that most of the horses were in the pasture as there were only a few that were currently stabled. A large black stallion caught Sansa’s attention down at the far end of the barn. He was tossing his head and kicking at his stall door, clearly agitated.

Sansa gave the stall a wide berth, but didn’t exit out the back, so fascinated was she with the large black horse. He was gorgeous and muscled, and though Sansa’s knowledge on horses was lacking, he looked expensive. He caught sight of her and she froze as she stared into his large black eyes. He stopped tossing his head and settled a bit, not breaking eye contact with her.

Some strange and insane compulsion moved Sansa to approach the stall. The stallion’s ears flicked, but stayed upright. She was morbidly curious as to whether or not she could touch him. When she was no more than a foot away from being able to touch his stall door, the beast’s ears went flat and he threw his head, rearing up on his back legs, and pounded the stall door with his hooves.

Sansa jumped back with a squeal and slammed into something solid.

“You should stay away from him,” the rumble of the voice was such that Sansa felt the vibrations in her back. For a moment, she thought she was dreaming again or perhaps so startled by the horse that she was imagining it.

Then, a large hand landed on her right shoulder and gently spun her around. “You okay?”

Sansa’s breath caught in her throat and she forgot to exhale. A moment before she passed out, his grey eyes widened and he said, “Sansa?”

Then the world went black.


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa was moving, but not of her own volition. She squeezed her already-closed lids tightly before opening them up. She found she was moving and a wave of nausea hit her so strongly that she closed her eyes again. She became aware of arms, one cradled beneath her shoulders and another curled around the bend of her knees.

“Ugh,” she groaned, putting a hand to her head. She opened her eyes again, slowly this time, to find she was looking at a massive chest. “Wha…?”

“Decide to rejoin the living?” A familiar voice rasped somewhere above her, stirring the hair on her head.

 _I’m still out_ , Sansa thought to herself. _Have to be. I’m hearing_ his _voice again._

This was a lot more vivid than her dreams though, and that was saying something. For one, in her dreams, she usually wasn’t making an absolute fool of herself by drooling all over his shirt. She tentatively lifted her eyes higher and let out a strange noise – something between a squeak and a gasp.

He looked down at her sternly. “Don’t pass out again,” he said.

Sansa blinked rapidly several times before her eyes slid to the left side of his face. Sure enough, wax-like scar tissue covered that side of his face. His beard covered some of the scarring, but he was definitely still missing most of an eyebrow. The corner of his mouth twitched.

“I’m not dreaming,” she said dumbly, then felt herself flush hotly.

“Unfortunately it’s not just a nightmare,” he said grouchily, avoiding eye contact.

Had Sansa not been awe-struck to see him again after so many years, she might have smacked him. Instead, she just pouted and glared up at him as he carried her gods-knew-where. When they finally entered a building, Sansa looked around and noticed it was where she worked, conducting her exams on new patients and seeing to any maladies the residents might have. 

“I’m fine,” she said, squirming against him. “You can let me down now.”

Sandor ignored her and found the nurse currently on duty, a man about Sansa’s age named Steve. His face screwed up in confusion when he saw Sandor toting Sansa into the office like a child. 

“Um, can I help you?” His eyes darted between the two of them.

“She passed out,” Sandor said. “Where do you want her?”

“You can put me down,” she said again. He narrowed his grey eyes at her, but said nothing.

“Ah, come in here,” Steve said, and Sandor followed, then unceremoniously deposited her on the exam table.

Sansa scrambled to sit upright in hopes of preserving at least some of her dignity. She pushed her disheveled hair away from her face where it had come loose from her ponytail. Steve came over with a small light, shining it into her eyes as he watched her pupils.

“Have you eaten today, Sansa?” He asked.

Sansa groaned. “Yes, I’ve eaten. I’m not sick. I’m fine.” 

Sandor had not left, but instead stood back against the wall, arms crossed over his muscular chest. His eyes met hers and he smirked at her, clearly aware that Sansa was not used to being the patient. He looked much the same as the last time she’d seen him, perhaps a few more lines around his good eye. His hair was still long and tied back into a low ponytail. Then Sansa noticed something she hadn’t taken note of before.

“Is that your dog?” She asked, staring at the handsome golden retriever sitting at Sandor’s feet, tongue lolling out of his mouth as it gave her a big doggy smile.

Sandor glanced down at his companion. “Hmm. Yeah, I suppose. This is Cooper.”

Steve didn’t seem to find it odd that Sandor had strolled in with his dog, but then Sandor was big and mean-looking, so perhaps the nurse had decided it wasn’t a battle worth fighting. 

Steve walked over to wheel the blood pressure machine over to Sansa and glanced up at Sandor. “You and Cooper can go now, Clegane. I’ve got it from here.”

Sandor made a move like he was going to listen, but Sansa said, “He can stay.”

Steve stilled and looked over at Sandor, confusion marring his handsome features. Sandor looked similarly perplexed, but resumed his stance against the wall.

“You find her, Clegane?” Steve asked as he slid the cuff onto Sansa’s arm.

“Caught her,” he said.

Steve confirmed that her blood pressure was fine and took a step back to look at her. “You seem all right. What happened before you fainted?”

Her eyes slid to Sandor and narrowed slightly. “Thought I saw a ghost.”

“Stranger startled her,” Sandor offered easily.

Understanding dawned on Steve’s face and he nodded. “Ah, makes sense. That demon horse could scare anyone. If you feel all right, you can go. But if you feel like you need to sit for a few minutes, you’re more than welcome to rest here.”

Sansa hopped off the table, fussing a bit with the hair falling in her face. “I’m fine,” she said as she tugged the hair band off, letting her hair down. Sandor’s face changed minutely as he watched her hair spill around her shoulders and she felt a small measure of triumph. “Care to walk me to my cottage?” 

Steve looked between them, still confused, but said nothing else as he left the exam room ahead of them. Sandor shrugged and motioned for her to walk ahead of him. “Lead the way.”

On the way out the door, Sansa bent to give Cooper a pat, but Sandor grasped her hand gently. “Don’t…touch him,” he seemed regretful that he’d grabbed her hand, so he let it go quickly. “He doesn’t like strangers.”

“Oh, I-I’m sorry,” Sansa stammered, feeling heat rush to her cheeks. She should’ve asked before being so presumptuous, she knew. But Cooper was still smiling up at her, seemingly as calm as he could be. He didn’t seem the type of dog that would bite, but Sandor was the one familiar with him. “Sorry,” she said again, walking ahead of Sandor and Cooper. “I shouldn’t have assumed…”

“It’s fine,” Sandor cut her off, but gently. He followed her outside and onto the wooden pathway to the cottages.

The setting sun slipping down the horizon gave the illusion that the clouds were aflame and it reminded Sansa of the night before Sandor had disappeared. She looked up at him as he walked beside her, not saying anything. It depressed her to think that he had nothing to say to her, especially after he’d abandoned her without any explanation. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to bring it up. She felt he owed her that.

As they made their way up to the hill to the women’s cottages, Sansa noticed something that she hadn’t when he’d been carrying her. It wouldn’t be overtly noticeable to anyone who wasn’t familiar with his normal gait. But Sansa had spent a long time studying him, and even though she hadn’t seen him in a long time, she noticed the faint limp caused by some weakness in his left leg. When he saw her looking, he grunted and shook his head.

“Did you do that carrying me?” She asked.

“No, little bird. You’re light as a feather,” he said. Her face went hot at the old nickname.

Sansa really wanted to ask what had happened, but maybe it was too forward considering he’d barely spoken to her. She wasn’t sure what to feel toward him. She was angry. She was relieved he wasn’t dead. She was curious as to how he had gotten here. She couldn’t tell if he was a patient or an employee. When they reached her cottage, he turned to go.

“Sandor,” she said, grasping at his arm. His name rolling off her tongue was odd now. She figured she probably called it out when she dreamed of him, but she hadn’t said it while conscious in so long that it was foreign in a way, but also familiar.

He turned back to her, eyeing her expectantly, his good eyebrow raised in question.

“Do you want to come in for a minute?”

He looked around a moment. “Not really supposed to. There’s a reason there are separate cottages for women.”

She let go of his arm, feeling defeated. “Since when did you become a stickler for the rules?”

He gave her a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. If we get caught, I’m blaming you,” he teased. “But Cooper has to come in too. Can’t stay out here by himself.”

Sansa wanted to laugh at the insistence that he couldn’t leave his dog. She would never have denied a dog access to her cottage anyway as she’d always been an animal lover, but the fact that a tough guy like Sandor was averse to leaving his dog outside for a few minutes was funny. Sansa let them into her small one-room cottage. She set about making some coffee, but couldn’t stop stealing glances of him as he stood near the door, hands in his pockets, looking anywhere but her. Cooper sat obediently at his feet.

He looked almost too big for the room, its small size somehow magnifying his mass. She allowed herself to study him more than she’d done since she’d found herself scooped into his arms. He was wearing faded old jeans and an olive shirt that also appeared well-used. The muscles in his arms were as huge as Sansa remembered. She was inexplicably happy that he’d kept his beard all these years. A memory of how it felt rubbing against her skin tried to surface, but Sansa mentally knocked it down. 

He looked _good_ , Sansa realized to her dismay.

If she had hoped that the years of absence had left a more flattering image of him in her mind, she had been sorely mistaken. He looked better in real life than he did in her dreams. 

_Damn him_ , she thought, handing him his cup of coffee – black, just like he liked it – while trying not to glare at him.

“Are you going to sit?” She asked him, taking a seat on her bed.

He looked at the only other chair in the room and wrinkled his nose a bit. It was quite small and the thought of him sitting in it made Sansa’s mouth quirk into a smile. 

“You can sit here,” she offered quietly, patting the spot next to her. “I won’t bite.”

Sandor looked at the bed, then looked back to her, then gave a shrug as he walked over to take the seat next to her. Cooper followed him over and sat near his feet. Sansa’s skin prickled at the proximity of his body. She hadn’t had this reaction when he’d carried her to the clinic, but she had been recovering from her swoon. Now, she wanted to curse the goosebumps rising on her skin at his nearness. How could he still affect her so?

“Never thought I’d see you again,” she told him, not daring to look up and show him how much it hurt her to say it.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him turn his head to look at her, felt his gaze on her face. “Same,” he rasped.

“I got away from Joffrey,” she told him.

“Good,” he said, still staring at her.

Sansa finally met his eyes and barely held in a gasp at the raw emotion she saw on his face. He’d always been so distant in the past, had been even since she’d found him again and passed out in his arms, but now she could plainly read the regret in his eyes. Sansa wondered what caused the regret. Did he regret leaving her? Or did he regret running into her again after all these years?

“Why did you leave?” She hadn’t meant to just blurt it out like that. She had wanted to approach the problem with a bit more tact, but it was a question she’d wanted an answer to for quite some time.

Sandor sat his mug on the floor between his feet and ran his fingers through his hair, head cradled in his hands. “I was drunk as a dog, little bird. I had no business being there.”

“I wanted you there,” she insisted. “You know I wanted you there. I told you…”

He cut her off, “And I’d remember what you told me? Doubtful. I was so fucked up from all of the liquor that I’m surprised I remember anything at all.”

Sansa flinched as though he’d slapped her. She remembered the events of that night with startling clarity. “What are you able to remember?”

The regret was still evident in his eyes along with something else. It wasn’t quite anger, but it made her uncomfortable. “Mistakes,” he rasped. “It’s clear whatever transpired was a mistake.”

A hole opened up in Sansa’s chest, sucking the energy from her to the point she sagged. When she chanced a glance at him again, he was glaring down at the coffee mug he’d sat on the floor. She’d had thoughts of telling him how she’d longed for him all these years. She’d thought that maybe he had missed her too. All those dreams of hers where he’d featured in the starring role, his mouth on her throat, his hands all over her body, his weight pressing her down into the mattress – the dreams had felt real because they had been based on reality, on her memories of that night. But it wasn’t a fond memory to be shared between them apparently, if the look on Sandor’s face was any indication.

“I-I didn’t see it that way,” Sansa said quietly, unable to look at him any longer. Had she misread him so badly?

“You were young and vulnerable and I took advantage of you.” He sounded angry, but Sansa didn’t know if it was directed at her or himself.

“I wasn’t drunk, Sandor,” she insisted, though he should’ve known that. She’d been the one to drive them back to her place that night because he’d been drinking. Had he forgotten that detail too? “I hadn’t been drinking at all that night, remember? I know you drank, but you didn’t seem…”

“Doesn’t matter,” he cut her off again. “The state you were in at the time left you little choice.”

Quick as a lightning strike, Sansa was angry. “Don’t treat me like I was a child and had no idea what I was doing! I was twenty-one years old and fully capable of making my own decisions.”

“Were you?” He growled, turning toward her, and suddenly he looked like the Hound again. “You were alone in a house with someone more than twice your size. You had just been through complete hell. How would you have refused me, Sansa?”

“Well, I _didn’t_ refuse you. Pretty sure _I_ made the first move,” she snapped back.

“Aye, you did, but there would be no stopping me if you changed your mind.”

“You’re full of shit!” Sansa leapt to her feet, chest heaving. She came to stand in front of him, her entire body shaking with anger. Cooper, who had previously been lying down, stood up, and looked at her curiously. She tried to calm herself so she didn’t startle the dog. “I know you, Sandor. Or at least, I knew you _then_. I didn’t want you to stop, so this conversation is irrelevant. But even if I had wanted you to stop, you would have. You can sit here and pretend to be the Big Bad Hound all you want, but I was never in any danger, not from you.”

His silver-grey eyes darkened as he glared at her, and then he stood too, towering over her and stepping into her space. “Don’t act like you knew me or what I was capable of, Sansa. I’ve done plenty of shitty things. Whatever pretty ideas you’ve got built up in your head are a product of those rose-colored glasses you like to wear. You didn’t see that Joffrey was a monster until it was almost too late. Then you did the same thing with me.”

He stepped around her before she could even open her mouth to argue with him. He didn’t even have to beckon Cooper, who was on his heels in a second. He opened the door, then he and Cooper both slipped out. He shut the door softly, surprising her as she’d expected him to slam it. Heat rushed to her face and she felt the sting of angry tears in her eyes. Something in her had shattered in the few moments that they had spoken and Sansa wasn’t prepared to piece it all together. She collapsed back into her bed and pulled the covers over her head. Hot tears coursed down her face, wetting her pillow. Every time she tried to make sense of what had just transpired, misery clenched at her chest and she sobbed harder.

She didn’t fall asleep until the early morning hours after her sorrow had wrung every bit of energy out of her.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, Sansa was exhausted. She was glad she had decided to move onto the island rather than staying in Saltpans because she was able to sleep later. She dragged herself to the clinic and went through the motions, unable to shake the emotions Sandor had stirred in her the night before. She didn’t know what she had expected him to tell her. Before he’d popped back into her life, she had almost convinced herself that Joffrey had done something to him, but Sandor had made it clear that it was his choice to disappear. Maybe he hadn’t really wanted her for anything more than a one-night stand.

Had she been so delusional that she had missed some critical clues? Sansa had felt there had been something between them, something more than sex, or shared tragedy, or loneliness… but maybe that’s all it was. Or maybe that’s all it was to _him_. Sansa knew her heart well enough that she could recognize that it had always been something more to her.

The day passed quickly at the small clinic as Sansa absorbed herself in her work, administering medicine and checking vitals of those still going through withdrawals. Sansa found she was well-suited to dealing with the recovering addicts on the island. She had always been empathetic and naturally kind to people and it seemed that these people looking to start anew needed those qualities in a nurse more than anything else. 

At the end of her shift, Sansa decided she was going to check out the gym. She was in desperate need of burning off some nervous energy. Normally she exercised in privacy, but the cottage was so small that it left very little room to do anything productive. She could hardly roll her yoga mat out all the way. So she returned to her cottage and quickly changed into some spandex leggings and a tank top. She threw a light jacket on over her top since the wind coming off the Bay of Crabs could be chilly in the evenings. 

Sansa was surprised to find that the small gym was packed full of people. The director of the isle had told her that physical fitness was a good thing for recovering addicts to put their energy into, but Sansa hadn’t imagined that she’d have to maneuver through so many people. She found an unoccupied corner in front of a mirror, laid out her yoga mat, and began her stretches. All of the machines were occupied, so Sansa would warm up a bit while she waited. She took off her jacket and began some simple stretches, preparing her muscles for strenuous activity.

After stretches, when she realized that there was still no free treadmill or elliptical, Sansa decided to work on weight training. She chose dumbbells she was comfortable with and began a triceps workout. She was so intent on keeping her arm in the correct position for triceps extensions, that she didn’t immediately notice when she had company.

“Getting fit, little bird?”

Sansa startled so badly that she dropped the dumbbell behind her back and Sandor had to leap out of the way to avoid a broken toe. Sansa’s hands came up to her racing heart as she stared at him in the mirror. Curiously, she noticed he’d even brought Cooper into the gym with him. _They let him get away with an awful lot._

He looked alarmed at first, having narrowly missed having his foot squished, but then narrowed his eyes at her. “You better not faint again,” he growled quietly. 

Sansa spun around to face him. “I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t even see you come up.” It sounded like a terrible excuse, considering he was six feet, six inches of pure muscle, but it was the truth. She had been oblivious.

He didn’t seem to believe her as he crossed his arms over his huge chest and gave her a skeptical look. “Right. Because all this is easy to miss,” he swept a hand over his general form. Sansa wished he wouldn’t have though, because her eyes followed that hand and she became quickly distracted.

He was wearing a tee shirt that, while it was probably _supposed_ to fit loosely, did absolutely zero to hide the definition of his muscles. The sleeves around his biceps were straining with the effort of not coming apart at the seams. His pectoral muscles were _very_ clearly visible through the stretched material, and some dark hair poked just out of the top of his V-neck. Sansa looked back in the mirror and subtly examined herself to make sure her mouth wasn’t watering. 

When she glanced back at him, he seemed clueless that she was checking him out, so she finished her little peep of him, noting how his shorts sat low on his hips, and how muscular his calves were.

_Seven above, this is not what I need_ , she thought helplessly.

“I didn’t mean to almost break your toe,” she muttered, retrieving the dumbbell from the floor. She glanced at the smiling pup and felt a smile tug at her mouth. “So the people that run this facility just let you take your dog wherever you want?”

Sandor looked down at his companion and gave a rare smile. “He’s a good boy and they know it. No one would dare kick him out. Glad you didn’t drop the dumbbell on him. Might not have forgiven you so easily.”

“I’m sorry!” She squeaked, wanting to reach out and give Cooper an apologetic head pat. “I just wasn’t expecting you.”

He raised his good eyebrow. “I wasn’t expecting you in here either. Since when did the little bird become a gym rat?”

“Oh, well, a few years ago I discovered it’s a great way to relieve stress. I normally exercise privately, but my cottage…”

“Aye, too small,” he agreed, immediately understanding. He was looking at her thoughtfully now, grey eyes sweeping over her form. She tried not to blush. He reached out a hand and clasped it around her upper arm and hummed in approval. “You have actual muscles, little bird.”

“Well, what did you expect?” She snapped, tugging her arm free. Goosebumps had exploded over her skin and she didn’t want him to notice. “I had scrawny little sticks for arms my whole life. I much prefer the muscles. Figured you could appreciate that,” she muttered, her eyes flicking to his very large arms.

A laugh rumbled out of him from deep in his chest and Sansa had to fight down a fresh round of goosebumps at the sound. She tried to look anywhere but his muscular chest, or his muscular arms, or his sexy smirk as he seemed to realize that she was flustered. She purposefully turned back to the mirror and resumed her triceps extensions, trying to ignore him. 

But he stood there watching her, though not like she had been watching him. His expression was thoughtful and his eye a bit more critical and she had the feeling he was trying to make sure she was doing the exercise correctly.

“Been doing this for years,” she reminded him as she switched arms.

“I can tell,” he commented, meeting her eyes in the mirror with another smirk.

“Don’t you have something to do?” She asked, irritation creeping its way into her voice.

Sandor shrugged. “I was supposed to have an appointment, but they haven’t shown up.”

Sansa finished her set and turned to look at him. “Appointment?”

“Aye, I’m a personal trainer.”

“Oh,” Sansa realized that in their interactions yesterday that she hadn’t even thought about what he was doing here. “So that’s your job here?”

He gave one nod as he watched her start elbow kisses. She bent at the knees into a squat, arms opened and at ninety degree angles, and began bringing her arms in to meet in the middle. 

“How in the world did you end up here?” It wasn’t all that surprising that he was a personal trainer, though the thought of him having patience enough to instruct people was laughable. What was really strange was how he’d wound up as a personal trainer _here_ on an island of addicts.

He was quiet for a moment as he watched her, and instead of immediately answering her, he stepped behind her and placed his hands on her hips. Sansa sucked in a breath at the contact, the feel of his large, warm hands resting against her hips with only the thin material of her leggings between them did things to her. His right hand left her hip and pushed against her tail bone. “Shift your hips forward,” he rumbled, all business-as-usual while Sansa proceeded to breathe heavily. “Your hips are supposed to be tucked forward.”

Sansa nodded dazedly. “Thanks,” she croaked, her mouth having gone a bit dry. He took his hands off of her and stepped back, all professional, making sure that her form was correct.

“I was a patient here first,” he explained after a moment of watching her. He met her startled eyes in the mirror. “After recovery, I was offered a position. Then Stranger came along…”

“Stranger?” Sansa asked.

“The demon horse you were trying to pet yesterday,” he explained. “I’d had some training with horses as a kid, so I took him on as a project. Then I somehow wound up taking care of the other horses as well.”

“Stable master _and_ personal trainer. They must put a lot of trust in you,” Sansa commented. “And you also get to carry your dog wherever you want. You might as well be running the place.”

“Cooper wouldn’t think that he’s mine, I assure you that. He thinks I’m _his_. He’s the boss, so he can go wherever he wants. As for the people who run this place trusting me, I just do my job,” he said. “It was an easy decision to stay here. No family, no home to go back to, no one waiting on me,” he shrugged. “There’s nothing out there for me.”

Sansa felt a twinge of _something_ at his words and remembered why she was mad at him. _Did you not think that maybe I was waiting for you? Did you not think about me at all over the years?_ She wasn’t sure what to ask him first, why he’d been a patient here or why he thought she might want to talk to him after he’d stormed out of her cottage last night.

She laid down the dumbbells and turned to him, hoping he’d respect her enough to give her an honest answer. “Why were you a patient here?”

He looked at her as though the question was ridiculous. “Alcoholism,” he said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh,” Sansa thought back on what she remembered of him. Though Sansa had known that he had a tendency to drink, even while on duty, she couldn’t remember it ever affecting his job. He hadn’t been a messy drunk or a violent drunk. The few times that she had seen him intoxicated, including the night they’d slept together, he had been more of a _passionate_ drunk than anything else. Liquor loosened his lips and he said things that she knew he normally wouldn’t say. The fact that he had entered treatment for alcoholism was a surprise because it had never occurred to Sansa that he might have had a problem and she told him as much. “You never seemed to struggle with it when I knew you before.”

He didn’t answer her or elaborate on why he had entered treatment. Several people had left vacant machines, but Sansa didn’t want to leave his company before she had to, so she began stretching for a leg workout. “Aren’t you going to do anything?” She asked him, hoping that the question didn’t run him off.

“I worked out this morning,” he said, which explained why he wasn’t sweaty. “I don’t work out _with_ my trainees.” 

She met his eyes in the mirror, flashing him what was probably a flirtatious grin that she couldn’t resist. “Are you just going to stand there and watch me workout then?”

He quirked his eyebrow, unimpressed, “I can go if it bothers you.”

“No,” she said, going for nonchalant, but saying it a bit too quickly. “It’s fine. Just thought you might get bored.”

Sansa placed her ankles shoulder-width apart and stretched her arms in front of her, clasping them together, before lowering herself into a squat. As good as he was at masking his expressions, Sansa saw a minute widening of his eyes and the movement of his throat as he swallowed. She suppressed a grin as he fought, unsuccessfully, to keep his eyes off her behind. When he finally managed it, he met her eyes in the mirror. He gave her a sheepish look and shrugged when he realized he’d been caught. “I don’t lie, so I’ll tell you that I’m…intrigued by your dedication to physical fitness.” His eyes were on her butt again.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully. “If anyone else was staring at my ass like that, I might be offended.”

“And yet, you’re not,” he said, managing to meet her eyes in the mirror. 

“Why do you think that is?” Sansa asked him, sounding a bit breathless even to her own ears. _I’m breathless because of the workout, NOT because of him_.

“Because you know I won’t hurt you or do anything that would make you uncomfortable. And I’m just trying to make sure your form is correct,” he added, another of those rare smiles tugging at his mouth. Maybe those smiles _weren’t_ so rare any more though. It seemed as though a lot of his old anger had left him and she guessed that living at a place called the Quiet Isle likely had something to do with it.

As she finished her set of squats and started on lunges, Sandor broke eye contact in the mirror and found a spot to stare at on the floor. It was this that signaled to her that he was about to say something that made him uncomfortable. She wanted to stop and give him her full attention, but she sensed he preferred speaking to her when she was distracted or otherwise occupied, so she continued with her exercise and waited for him to speak.

“I, uh, want to apologize for last night,” he rasped, his brow furrowing at the spot on the floor he was staring at. “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. Doesn’t do me much good to claim I’m a changed man if I revert back to old habits.”

“Are you a changed man?” Sansa blurted the question before she could think about it. She wasn’t sure she _wanted_ him to be a changed man. She’d liked him just fine before. 

He reached around to scratch the back of his neck and Sansa, damn her, was once again distracted by the flexing muscles. _Get it together, Stark_. “Yeah, I am,” he said finally, still not meeting her eyes. “Maybe not a _good_ man, but certainly better than I was.”

Sansa finished her set and turned to face him again. He was looking down at Cooper thoughtfully rather than looking at her, and as cute as it was that he was so devoted to his canine companion, she desperately wished he’d look at her again. She walked over to stand closer to him and he looked up at her.

“I think you’re a good man. And before you tell me that I don’t know you, please remember that I was with _Joffrey_. I know a bad man when I see one now. I might have been blind to him in the beginning, but I figured out soon enough that he was no good. I was just too stupid and weak to leave back then. I’m perfectly capable of recognizing a good man. And the fact that you _want_ to be a good man says a lot about you. And about last night…” Sansa paused when he gave her a warning glance, as though he didn’t want anyone to know they’d been together. She ignored the little sting of hurt it caused and pushed forward. “You’re right in saying I don’t know what you’re capable of, but I know what you _aren’t_ capable of – I know you would never physically harm me. You can act tough and hardened and just plain _bad_ all you want, but you would never lay a finger on me.”

He studied her for several seconds, then seemed to catch onto something she’d mentioned. “I’d never ‘physically harm’ you…does that mean I’ve hurt you some other way?”

It was Sansa’s turn to give Sandor a look of caution. Her eyes darted around the gym. This conversation was getting a little too raw to be discussed in public, but she wouldn’t lie to him. Instead of explaining herself, she just gave him a knowing look and nodded her head. She watched as a pained expression flashed across his face, and then he nodded too, as though understanding.

Sandor pulled his phone from his pocket, seemingly checking the time. “I’m going to head out,” he said. “My appointment is a no-show at this point, so I’m going to grab supper.”

Sansa nodded, turning back to the mirror, wishing he wasn’t running away from her. She bent to get her resistance bands and when she stood back up, he was still standing in the same spot behind her, a question forming on his lips. She raised her eyebrows in question, waiting patiently for him to say whatever it was he was struggling with. 

But then, he exhaled dramatically and shook his head. “I’ll see you around, Sansa. Come on, Cooper,” he said, though his dog had already stood and was headed to the door ahead of Sandor.

“See you,” Sansa echoed, quietly, wondering why in the world she felt so sad every time he walked away from her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making nice. Sort of.

Sansa wasn’t sure how she had gone the first week on the Isle without seeing Sandor because now he seemed to be everywhere. She would see him in passing throughout the day: in the dining hall during mealtimes, in passing on the pathways to the clinic, at the gym in the evenings instructing someone in weight training while Cooper looked on from a few feet away. She had expected that he would ignore her, but he always acknowledged her presence, whether it be nodding to her when they passed on the pathway or making small talk while waiting in a line at mealtimes in the dining hall.

The small talk was new and different, but not bad. Sandor had never been what Sansa would call friendly when she’d known him in the past. In fact, there were plenty of times when Sansa could only describe their exchanges as tense with him being growly and rude and Sansa struggling to be polite. Now, while Sansa would still hesitate to call him friendly, he didn’t mind chatting with her about what amounted to nothing. Another odd thing was that Cooper was _always_ at his side. No one batted an eye that Sandor was bringing his dog into the dining hall or the gym or the clinic (where he occasionally showed up to grab a prescription, Sansa never knew what for, and it seemed as though he purposely avoided having her attend to him). All Sansa could figure was that Sandor was well-respected amongst the owners of the program and could get away with about whatever he wanted to. 

The man who had started the program, Ray Elder, would often be seen with Sandor during meal times. Usually, Sandor got his food to-go and disappeared to eat it in privacy, but sometimes he would join Dr. Elder at a table in the corner, where the two of them would talk almost non-stop. It was strange to see Sandor actually relaxed and enjoying the company of someone, but again, not in a bad way. She was trying to work up the courage to ask him to sit with her at one of the meals, but was a little worried he may reject her. While Sandor had been cordial, there was certainly a difference in the way he spoke with her and the way he chatted animatedly with Dr. Elder. Sansa wished she could get him to open up like that, but then, she guessed that Sandor felt he owed a lot to the older man considering he had come to the Isle for treatment and wound up with two different job titles.

She was torn between being aggravated at him for continually running off when she tried to have a serious conversation with him and appreciating the fact that he went out of his way to be nice to her. It was clear to her that he regretted what had happened between them all those years ago, but a big part of her held out hope that he cared enough about her that they could be friends. She craved his presence and she was well aware that every time the two of them interacted she was left smiling like a fool. 

A couple of weeks after discovering Sandor Clegane inhabiting the same tiny island where she was working, Sansa finally got up the courage to ask him to have lunch with her. She was standing in line in the dining hall when she sensed him behind her. Oddly enough, somehow she was attuned to his presence. She didn’t know if it was his smell – clean soap, a hint of something spicy, _him_ – or if the fact that he stood so much taller than everyone else made her aware of the shadow he was casting over her, but Sansa could always tell when he was near. She turned to him, noticing he looked grouchy.

It had been raining all day, and while Sansa was currently standing in line with her rain jacket zipped up and her hood thrown over her head, Sandor didn’t look near as prepared. His long black hair hung in wet strands over his face, sticking to his skin. His long sleeve, grey tee shirt was soaked, clinging to his body in such a way that Sansa had to fight the urge to openly stare at him. Instead, she turned her attention to Cooper, who despite also being drenched, seemed to be in his usual cheerful mood. Sansa had the urge to pet him again, but Sandor’s previous warning stopped her from reaching down.

_“He doesn’t like strangers.”_

The statement seemed in direct opposition to Cooper’s personality, but Sansa wasn’t going to push it. Avoiding looking at Sandor’s chest and arms, she peered up at his face. “Forget your umbrella?”

“Don’t do umbrellas,” he grumbled.

She raised her eyebrow at him questioningly. “Forget your rain jacket?”

“Hmph,” he shook his head a bit, causing water droplets to fly through the hair and smack Sansa right in the face. 

“Eep!” She jumped back at the contact of the cold water and gave Sandor an incredulous look. “Hey! That wasn’t nice!”

His brows still folded, she could see that he was warring with the urge to smile, the corners of his mouth trembling a bit with the effort to keep scowling. “Little bird can’t handle a little water?”

Sansa rubbed at the droplets on her face and raised her chin indignantly. “Don’t punish me because you got caught in the rain. And poor Cooper…you should buy him a doggy rain coat.”

Sandor gave her a look as though to say “ _are you serious right now_ ” and rolled his eyes. “Cooper can handle a little water, unlike you.”

“Hmph,” Sansa said, trying to imitate Sandor’s earlier huff, but instead coming across sounding like a spoiled princess. “And to think, I was going to invite you to sit with me at lunch today!” She peeked at him from the corner of her eye, her chin still in the air, as she tried to hide the anxiety she felt while waiting for his reaction.

“Rescinding an invitation because of a little water,” he shook his head, openly smirking at her now. “What happened to your manners, little bird?”

“What happened to yours?” She teased, turning away from as the line moved up several places.

She heard a deep rumbling laugh close behind her and tried to stifle the shiver it brought with it. When she turned back around he was closer than he had been moments ago, causing her to tilt her head back as she looked over her shoulder at him. He bent down until his mouth was level with her ear, and when he spoke his breath was warm against her skin. “Never had manners in the first place, remember?”

“That’s fair,” she said, a bit breathlessly; though it wasn’t fair at all. How could he still affect her so? 

“I’ll eat lunch with you,” he said after a moment. “Just don’t try to feed my dog any table scraps, okay?”

Sansa turned to give him a look of mock indignation. “I would not do that!”

“Hmm, I think you would,” he said. “You seem exactly the kind of person that would toss scraps to pets. Don’t deny it.”

“Well…okay, fine, but I wouldn’t do it to Cooper and certainly not without asking…” Sansa stepped up to the bar to select her food, choosing a garden Caesar salad and sugar-free pudding for dessert. Sandor got two cheeseburgers, an order of fries, and a cheesecake slice. He followed her to the table of her choice and Sandor sat beside her rather than across from her. The proximity made her squirm a little.

“How is that you eat like an adolescent boy and still look like that?” Sansa remarked. The words were out of her mouth before she realized what she was saying. Heat rushed up to her cheeks and, feeling hot, she yanked her hood off and focused on unlatching the plastic container that held her salad. 

“Like what, little bird?” Sandor asked her. He was _definitely_ laughing at her, at least internally, and she didn’t have to look at him to know it. 

She shrugged as though it was no big deal that she’d brought it up. “You know, fit. You’re eating all that crap and yet you have like, zero body fat.” _I’m digging myself deeper here_.

When she got the courage to look back up at him, he looked thoughtful. “Not _zero_ body fat,” he mused, smirking at her again.

 _Gods above_ , Sansa thought. _My filter doesn’t work around him at all._

“You’re going to have high blood pressure,” she commented as she poured her fat free dressing on her salad.

“Well, I can’t speak as to my blood pressure or cholesterol, but I’m in the gym enough to keep the body fat to a minimum. Might be they should’ve hired you as the nutritionist since you’re so concerned with my diet.”

“Maybe I’m just jealous,” she said, finally meeting his eyes and noticing that they sparkled with amusement. “I’m over here eating rabbit food and you’re eating like a kid.”

Sandor had already wolfed down his first cheeseburger. As he picked up his second one, he held it out to her. “I’m willing to share.”

Sansa delicately chewed her salad. “Not all of us can eat junk and still stay in shape.”

She tossed a glance his way and froze; at that moment, Sandor’s eyes were roaming up and down her figure, though more in an appraising sort of way rather than flirtatious. The heat came back to her cheeks then and she ducked her head down to sip from her straw.

“I don’t think one cheeseburger would hurt you, little bird.”

Sansa tried to control her breathing, which was coming a bit labored at the feel of his eyes on her body. _And here I am sitting hunched over in scrubs and a rain jacket,_ she thought miserably. _Of all days to invite him to lunch_.

She stopped those thoughts right there. _What does it matter what I look like when he sits with me_? She wasn’t trying to impress anyone, not even Sandor. She had a boyfriend after all. While Sansa had always taken pride in her appearance and was fond of wearing makeup, most days she skipped putting it on for work. Her usual work look included a face free of make-up, baggy scrubs, and her hair braided, pulled into a ponytail, or piled on her head in a bun. The most she wore on her face most days included lip balm and moisturizer. But now, for some reason, she wished she had taken a little more care with her appearance.

Her hair was messier than normal, for sure. She wore a high ponytail and the constant donning and removing of her hood had left it unkempt. She wondered again why she cared what she looked like around him, desperately trying to drown out the voice that continued to remind her that she _liked_ him still, even after all these years.

Sandor unwrapped the second cheeseburger and used a plastic knife to saw it in half, then offered it to her again. She grudgingly accepted and subsequently savored the taste of beef, bacon, and cheese. 

“No onions, pickles, lettuce, or mayonnaise?” She asked him, realizing that the burger was a little dry.

“Don’t like ‘em,” he said around a mouthful of fries.

“Sandor Clegane, are you picky?”

“Don’t like vegetables.”

Sansa snickered. “You really _do_ eat like a kid. No vegetables at all?”

Sandor thought for a moment, then held up a couple of fries. “These count as vegetables, right?”

“If that makes you feel better,” Sansa said, grinning over at him. She opened her mouth to ask him if he would be at the gym later, but at that moment, Cooper uncharacteristically gave Sandor a hard poke with his paw. 

Sandor’s brow furrowed as he looked down at Cooper with concern. The dog laid his head on Sandor’s lap and looked up at him almost pleadingly. _Is he begging for food?_ Sansa wondered. Cooper then lifted his head, stood up, and turned in three quick, tight circles before stopping and pawing at Sandor’s leg again. It was odd. Sansa had never seen Cooper anything other than calm and happy.

“Is he hungry?” She asked.

Sandor shook his head and abruptly stood up, laying his hand on Cooper’s head. He turned back to her, opened his mouth as though to say something, then closed it again. He glanced down at his food. “I, uh, got to go. Can you…” He trailed off, his eyes bouncing between Sansa’s face and his trash.

“Oh, yeah, no problem. I can get it,” Sansa assured him, sure that the look on her face gave away her confusion. 

Sandor nodded quickly and headed across the dining hall to the door, Cooper right at his side. She wondered if Cooper was on some kind of set meal schedule that had to strictly be followed. But Sandor was in the dining hall nearly every day at this time and Sansa couldn’t remember Cooper ever acting like that. The dog had seemed distressed and urgent as he’d poked at his master. 

Sansa let it go and quickly cleaned up the trash from their meal. She wondered if Sandor would agree to eat lunch with her more often. She felt like they could be friends. Sandor seemed pretty receptive to casually spending time around her, but Sansa found herself wavering more often than not. When she saw him, she certainly didn’t avoid him; in fact, she was sure that she wrung every bit of interaction she could from their encounters. But once she got back to her cottage at night and was left alone with her thoughts, she found that part of her _really_ wanted to hold a grudge.

Sansa believed that she deserved an explanation as to why he disappeared on her. The only reason she hadn’t brought it up to him aside from that first night was because she thought maybe he didn’t think he’d left anything unfinished, though Sansa had certainly felt abandoned. Sansa knew enough about Sandor’s past and the women he’d been involved with to recognize that he was not the kind of man who had been in serious relationships. There had been many women, _countless_ women even, that had been involved with the Hound. The scars on his face didn’t seem to deter very many women from pursuing him. 

_You’re such a fool, Sansa_. He’d done with her as he’d done with every other woman he’d been involved with. It just hadn’t seemed that way to her at the time. But then, she always was the one to romanticize everything.

***

The next day, Sansa was the one in a bad mood. It had been like all seven hells combined at the clinic that morning. Somehow, one of the patients had gotten ahold of alcohol, likely from a visiting family member, and had vomited all over Sansa before passing out. Then, after showering and changing into fresh scrubs, she had been screamed at by a fifteen year old incoming patient who had been admitted by her father. She clearly did not want to be there, told everyone who would listen she didn’t have a problem, and fought Sansa as she tried to take her vitals. It had taken Sansa, Steve, and Myranda over an hour to accomplish what should’ve taken ten minutes. To top it all off, it was still raining.

Sansa stomped to the cafeteria, her hair now pulled into a very messy bun on top of her head, once again donning her rain jacket. Because it was late summer, she was hot inside the jacket and threw off the hood as soon as she set foot in the dining hall. To her surprise, Sandor was waiting just inside the door with Cooper at his side. He hadn’t even got in line yet.

He studied the expression on her face. “Rough day?”

“You could say that,” she groaned. “I got barfed on. Then there was a girl more than a decade younger than me that almost kicked my ass. My white sneakers are ruined because of all the vomit and I have to wear these green scrubs instead of the cute pink ones I had on because I didn’t want to go back to my cottage to change.”

“Is it safe for me to sit with you or do I need to steer clear?”

The question instantly brightened her mood as she looked over her should at him in surprise. “You’re going to sit with me again?”

He shrugged and said, “Only if you want company.”

“Of course,” she said immediately, turning away from him to hide a smile.

Sansa once again selected her salad and a glass of water, while Sandor had a basket of chicken tenders with two slices of garlic toast. Sansa must have been looking greedily at his toast because he took one look at her after they sat down, rolled his eyes, and gave her a slice. She was hungry, so for the first few minutes she said nothing as she wolfed down her salad and toast.

She wanted to ask him why he’d run off yesterday, but she figured if he wanted her to know, he would have already told her. Maybe Cooper had _really_ needed to relieve himself and Sandor didn’t want to mention it over a meal. Whatever had caused the odd behavior, it seemed to have passed because Sandor gave no indication that anything was amiss. Cooper seemed fine now, lying at Sandor’s feet, his big brown eyes trained on his owner.

When Sansa had finally eaten her fill, she said, “Do you ever leave the Isle?”

He glanced at her. “I live here, if that’s what you’re asking. Same as you. I have a cottage on the other side of the Isle.”

Sansa nodded, “I know you live here, but what I meant was, do you ever take day trips away?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sandor said, turning his body to her so they could speak with more ease. “I don’t normally go far…Saltpans or Maidenpool on the weekends I’m off. I’ve taken a few extended vacations, but it’s not something I do regularly.”

“Why?” Sansa blurted. She didn’t take vacations either, per se, but her job involved so much travel that she had the privilege of seeing different places. If Sandor’s schedule allowed for vacation, she wondered why he didn’t take more advantage of it.

He inhaled deeply and then blew it out, seeming a bit exasperated. “It’s not as though there’s anyone to go on vacation with, Sansa. After a while, traveling on your own gets boring. Might as well stay here where I know people.”

“Oh,” Sansa said, realizing that it made sense. She got lonely at times too, but whatever job she was assigned to usually kept her occupied. Before she could think about what she was saying, she blurted, “So no girlfriend then?”

She watched the corner of his mouth twitch into a smirk. “No, Sansa. No girlfriend.”

She found herself smiling back at him. “That’s a shame. And shocking too.”

“Is it?” He seemed amused, and while she was teasing him a little, she really meant it.

“Yes! I mean, I just remember that before…” Sansa stopped to study his face, making sure he was still calm. The other time she’d mentioned _before_ they’d had an argument. 

“Before…?” He prompted, seemingly calm.

“I remember when I knew you before that you always seemed to have a woman around.”

“Always a different woman, rarely the same one twice,” he grumbled, looking away and sounding bitter.

“Well, I just thought that maybe you had settled down?” She laughed nervously, then cleared her throat, worried that the conversation was making a turn for awkward. “You never had a shortage of women interested before and I’m guessing that’s still the case.”

He lifted one shoulder, still staring across the dining hall. “Might be some are. But I’m not interested so it doesn’t matter.”

“Oh,” Sansa said, unsure how to feel about that. On the one hand, she was gleeful that there didn’t seem to be a woman he was interested in, though she didn’t want to examine too closely why that mattered. On the other hand, if he wasn’t interested in women any more, did that mean he wasn’t interested in her? And on that note, she chastised herself because that didn’t matter either.

“What about you?” Sandor’s question pulled her from her warring thoughts and she looked up at him in confusion.

“What about me?”

He huffed a laugh. “What about you, little bird?”

It finally dawned on her what he was asking and she felt heat rise into her cheeks. She tried to play it off playfully when she responded, “Oh, no. I don’t have a girlfriend. I’m pretty confident that I’m only interested in men.”

He barked a laugh and Sansa couldn’t help but be a little dazzled by the smile playing on his lips. She’d found him attractive for a long time, but smiling _really_ did things for him that he was probably unaware of. It changed his entire face. He had spent so many years scowling and angry and hateful that seeing a smile on his mouth and his grey eyes twinkling made Sansa want to tell him how beautiful he was. But that would probably make him mad.

“That a way to avoid the question,” he teased her. “But I would like a real answer.”

“I have a boyfriend,” she admitted, unsure why it was something she wanted to avoid talking about.

Sandor nodded as though he expected this news. “Better than Joffrey?”

“Oh, much better,” Sansa laughed. “But anyone is an improvement compared to Joffrey.” _That didn’t sound right,_ she thought, unsettled with her words. Theon was great, no matter who he was compared to.

“He treats you okay?” Sandor asked, seeming truly concerned. He had always been aware that Joffrey had not treated Sansa very well.

“Of course. He’s great. Really,” Sansa said, meaning everything she said though it was coming off flat. _What the hell is wrong with me??_ “Actually, he’s my brother’s best friend. I’ve known him practically my whole life.”

“If the two of you had figured it out sooner, you never would have dealt with Joffrey,” Sandor said, his eyes had dropped to Cooper and he was gently running his foot over Cooper’s leg.

 _If I had done that, I wouldn’t have met you_ , Sansa thought. Aloud, she just made an agreeable noise. She really needed to call Theon. She had only spoken with him a handful of times since she’d been reassigned. So far, she had failed to tell him about running into an old friend.

“I can’t believe he isn’t in prison,” Sansa said, changing the subject. “I thought he might get in some kind of trouble after what happened at the club.” She wasn’t sure if this was unwelcome territory for Sandor. He had tensed when she mentioned the club and Sansa suspected any time she even hinted at mentioning their past that she would get this reaction. She didn’t like it.

“Heard he was sued,” Sandor commented. “Settled out of court for an undisclosed amount.”

“People died though,” Sansa said. “He blocked the fire exits. He allowed pyrotechnics in a building that was highly flammable. People were burned to death, suffocated, trampled…”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Sandor cut her off gruffly. “As long as you never reach out to him, he’ll leave you alone. He has enough money to get away with murder and that’s precisely what happened. It doesn’t concern either of us anymore.”

Sansa knew he didn’t want to talk about fire. Fire had shaped his entire life, as far as he was concerned. He’d told her as much when he confessed to how he’d gotten his scars. He probably didn’t want to relive those moments before he’d gotten the two of them out of the building. And if his demeanor was any indicator, he didn’t want to think about the hours following the fire, though Sansa thought about it all the time. 

When they parted ways after their meal, Sansa returned to the clinic to find a significantly calmer atmosphere. It was fortunate for her that things had calmed because she found herself distracted by the past. It was true that this was often the case for her, but for the first time in a long time, she _let_ herself remember. Every detail, every word that had been said, rose up to her consciousness as though she were watching it from someone else’s perspective. Every look that had passed between them, every touch of their skin had culminated into a one-time affair that had stayed with Sansa years later. She didn’t know if it was the months of heated looks, the understanding they’d formed between the two of them that no lies would pass between them, or it the horror of the fire that night had made them both vulnerable.

All Sansa knew was that she’d never been able to shake herself free of Sandor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI...the next chapter is going to be all flashback. I hope that this is obvious when it's read, but if not, here's this note, warning you that it is PAST INTERACTIONS, not present.
> 
> Hopefully, next chapter will be up in a week. I know this one was slightly late. SORRY.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There were plenty of other people there you could’ve helped, but you chose me. You’ve been through literal hell, Sandor, but you came for me and you got me out. Why?!”
> 
> Flashback Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this entire chapter is part 1 of a flashback explaining the events that took place the night of the "affair". The flashback was originally going to take place completely within this chapter, but it turned into a monster of a chapter so...I split it up. Part 2 of the flashback will be Chapter 7. I think I can keep Sansa's flashback contained to 2 chapters, though there will be more later on.

(Seven years earlier)

Sansa sat by herself, as usual, at a table for two in the corner. Her feet were sore, but she refused to remove her shoes in the nightclub, unwilling to expose her feet to whatever germs might be lurking. She had no idea where Joffrey was, also not unusual, but figured he was probably screwing some woman in one of the VIP rooms. She was beyond caring at this point.

Her eyes traveled to the entrance, where Sandor Clegane was keeping a watch over the crowd. Many nights, she’d found herself at his side, making conversation to fight the boredom that threatened to put her to sleep. Because despite the loud music, the unruly drunk people, and the flashing lights, Sansa was so bored that she’d rather curl up and go to sleep.

She was only present because Joffrey insisted that she show “support” at least three nights a week by showing up to his night club. He rarely spent time with her, but he always asked around to make sure she’d shown up, so Sansa always made sure she was seen. Conveniently, Sandor was one of the people who Joffrey thought was useful to keep tabs on Sansa. Little did he know that the Hound had lied for her more than once. On nights when she’d just dug in her heels and refused to show up at Club Fury, Sandor had vouched for her and said that he’d seen her when he definitely had not.

It was a testament to their unusual friendship, if that’s what it could be called, that Sandor lied for her. He’d told her himself that he hated liars worse than anything else. It was a stark contrast between him and Joffrey, who lied all the time, uncaring whether or not he was caught.

Sansa had met Joffrey while in college in the Crownlands and had been dating him less than a year when the club opened. As a nineteen year old college student, Sansa was thrilled with the idea of having a rich, successful boyfriend open his own business (and a night club, no less) that she could get into without having to pay a cover and drink her fill of alcohol without fear of being carded. Truthfully, she didn’t often get drunk, but some nights Joffrey tested her patience to the point that she needed something to calm her nerves. 

Sandor had been hired as security and, upon first seeing him, he had terrified Sansa. The first time they were introduced, Joffrey had been leading Sansa into the club before it opened for the night, his hand at the small of her back. He had guided her toward an office with the intent of a quickie, when she’d run right into Sandor. She’d turned a corner and smacked into solid muscle. When she had jumped back to apologize, she gasped and jumped a second time at the extensive scarring covering the left side of his face.

Sandor had glared down at her as she had stammered through an apology while Joffrey had laughed. _“Scared of my dog?”_ He had asked her with a note of pride in his voice. Sandor had growled and left them to their business. Later on, Joffrey had explained that Sandor Clegane had previously been employed as security for his mother, but that it was a rather boring job and the Hound, as Joffrey called him, was more than happy to take on a more exciting role as head of security at Club Fury.

It seemed as though Sandor worked every night because he was there all the time. His constant presence was what made Sansa aware that women were intrigued with him. Half his face may have been a mess, but the unburned side was ruggedly handsome. He had a strong, square jaw and a heavy brow. Sandor had a short, neat beard trimmed close to his face, and though Sansa had never been attracted before to a man with facial hair, she found it very attractive on him. The lips beneath his mustache looked full and soft, despite the corner that was burnt. His mouth may have been sexy had he not been scowling all the time. His long black hair fell to his shoulders and looked as though it would be soft to the touch.

But his face was likely the last thing on most of the women’s minds that approached him. Though Sansa had never seen much of his skin, she knew that he was very muscular. His shoulders were broad, as was his chest, and his waist tapered into lean hips. The black dress pants he usually wore did nothing to hide the sculpted ass or the muscular thighs. If sweet little Sansa Stark could notice such things, albeit while blushing, she knew that the women who sought out these kinds of men were instantly aware of all the goodness that lay beneath those clothes.

And the bad boy image didn’t hurt him either. The strength he displayed when breaking up fights, barely breaking a sweat in the process, was surely noted by the regulars. Once Sansa had heard a woman comment, _“He can toss me around like that anytime he wants,”_ after Sandor had thrown out two grown men at once. There was rarely a night that Sandor left the club alone, and Sansa had made a comment to Joffrey once about it, he laughed. _“My Hound may be ugly, but he has no shortage of bitches willing to bed him.”_ Sansa had balked at the crude description, though it had proved to be accurate. As much as she proclaimed to Joffrey that she didn’t know what all those women saw in him, the truth was that she _did_ know because she saw the same.

Despite her initial fear, Sansa became a little fascinated with Sandor Clegane. As time went on, it became a little easier to be in his presence. He was hateful at times, he was rude more often than not, but he was also honest and she appreciated that. When Joffrey began to stray from her, Sansa had demanded that Sandor tell her what he knew. She’d been certain that he would lie to her, cover up for his boss.

_“Little bird,” he had sneered at her. “We both know he’s disappeared to fuck one of his little groupies. Why ask questions that you already know the answer to?”_

Sansa had been outraged, had exclaimed _“how dare you”_ as though he’d offended her delicate senses, and Sandor had laughed at her. She had hissed at him how awful he was, but he had merely replied _“I’m honest; it’s the world that’s awful”._

Sansa knew that Joffrey was cheating on her, but looked the other way. She had bigger concerns about their relationship than Joffrey’s infidelity. He had begun treating her like she was stupid and useless. He had forbade her from getting a job and insisted that she move from her dorm room into his downtown apartment. At the time, Sansa had argued with herself that he was trying to take care of her. Even though she wanted to work, without the added responsibility of juggling a job, Sansa was able to focus on school. She was an exemplary student and was on track to graduate in the top percentage of her class.

Joffrey wasn’t impressed with Sansa’s academic accolades, and halfway through her junior year he had begun hinting that he did not want her to get a job immediately after graduating. He had proposed marriage and made a big production of it all and Sansa had said yes, swept up as she was in the moment. She had immediately regretted accepting the proposal and Joffrey had begun saying things like _“when we’re married you’ll be home by seven every evening”_ and _“when we’re married I expect you to keep a slender figure. Don’t get fat and lazy.”_

Once, when Sansa asked him about children and suggested that child birth may change her body, including gaining weight, Joffrey’s lip had curled in disgust. _“I won’t be able to touch you while you’re fat. You’ll need to be back to your normal weight no more than a month after you have a baby. And if your tits look bad afterward, we’ll just have those fixed.”_

Sansa eventually found it very difficult to see any positive in her relationship with Joffrey. He was controlling, he spoke to her as though she were beneath him, and he was critical about any change in her appearance. She had once cut her hair into a shoulder-length bob, and while she decided later that she preferred it long, the choice of what length to wear her hair should have been her decision; but Joffrey hated it. He told it made her face look fatter. He told her she must have been lazy since one of her arguments for cutting her hair had been that it was lower maintenance. 

Sandor had offered an entirely different perspective on it. When he’d seen her new short hair, he’d touched the ends with his fingertips in a rare show of the gentleness Sansa had suspected for a while that he was capable of. She’d smiled at him, so starved was she for affection that she was now drinking in the attention of one of her fiancé’s employees. She’d been sure he’d bark at her for smiling so sweetly, but instead his eyes had softened and he’d told her, _“I can see your face better this way. I like it.”_

Sansa wasn’t sure that one could _actually_ see her face any better, but she knew what he was getting at. He was unaccustomed to giving out compliments. Sansa figured he meant that he liked the way her new hair cut framed her face. Whatever he meant, it was clear that Sandor, who was little more than an acquaintance, was more supportive than her own boyfriend. It became clear over the next few months that something had slowly changed between Sandor and herself. Nights at the club were now spent in his company, watching as he escorted unruly people out of the building or broke up fights. Joffrey drank and flirted and frequently disappeared for long stretches of time. At some point, Sansa realized she didn’t really care what he was doing.

On this particular night, Sansa was fine with being on her own. She watched several women approach the Hound, clearly wondering what he was doing after work, only to be turned away. Sansa rubbed at her aching forehead, the flashing of the strobe lights making her headache worse. Joffrey had a fondness for lots of production and tonight he had commissioned a live band to play who were known to use pyrotechnics. The news of this had unsettled Sandor immensely, and Sansa didn’t blame him, considering his past. 

So far, the band hadn’t set off any sparklers, but as they came back from their break, Sansa saw one of the crew members setting up several gerbs around the stage. She sat up a little straighter and then peered through the crowd to see if she could find Sandor. Though he was a good distance away, she could see the dread etched on his face. She thought of going to him, just for support because she knew that fire made him uneasy, but she wasn’t sure if he would appreciate her knowing about his vulnerability.

Sansa dug her phone out of her purse and shot a text to Joffrey.

**Sansa: Is this band you hired authorized to use gerbs? What if the ceiling is too low?**

While she waited for his response, the lead singer of the band began introducing their next song. The drummer counted it off and the band jumped into a fast-paced song. Seconds after the song began the gerbs went off, shooting sparks more some fifteen feet in the air. Sansa gasped and gripped the edge of the table. Were the sparks touching the ceiling?

She jerked her head back to Sandor, whose eyes were trained on the flames, his jaw tight as he clenched his teeth. Her heart hammered inside her rib cage as she looked back to the sparks. Surely she was overreacting. Joffrey had used effects before, though nothing so dangerous as fireworks. Ten seconds into the spark, Sansa smelled the smoke. She stood up, watching as flames licked the top of the building. 

Sansa looked back to where Sandor was standing and he was gone. Sansa’s hand shook as she looked down at her phone, pulling up Joffrey’s name in her contacts, and hitting the ‘call’ button. The call went immediately to voicemail. Her eyes were drawn back to the stage, where the band had now stopped playing.

“Oh, shit,” one of the members said into the microphone as the flames moved swiftly from the ceiling to the back wall.

Black smoke billowed around the band and they hopped off the stage, discarding their instruments as they went. The drummer screamed, “Get out, get out!”

And at once, people began moving to the front door, pushing against one another in an attempt to get out before the flames overtook the building. Sansa was shoved against the wall by the horde of people, pressed so tightly that she couldn’t move. Her eyes moved to the back of the building where another exit was located.

 _The doors are chained shut!!_ Joffrey would block the exits on occasion if he worried that people might try to sneak in, and Sansa could clearly see that the people who had gone for that exit were now trying to fight their way back across the dance floor.

Flames had engulfed the walls and Sansa could hear people screaming as the smoke finally reached her for true, filling her nose and her throat until she coughed violently. She fought back against the moving throng of people scrambling to exit until she finally popped free of them. Unwilling to be trampled to death, Sansa climbed on top of a table and looked out over the club. 

“Oh, Gods,” she moaned, watching as the flames caught up to the crowd. People caught fire and screamed and screamed, but Sansa couldn’t look away.

 _I’m going to die here_ , she thought in panic as smoke filled the room to the point she could barely see. The heat of the flames became uncomfortably hot as they crept closer. She was too far away from any of the exits; there were too many other people trying to escape. _I’ll either be trampled to death or burned to death_ , she thought. She couldn’t see any of the other exits from where she sat on the table, perched on all fours. Her lungs were on fire and sweat poured off her body as though she’d been drenched. _I’m going to die_.

Suddenly, an arm around her waist pulled her from the table. She screamed until she realized who had her. She was thrown over Sandor’s shoulder as he pushed past people, heading away from the main exit in an attempt to avoid getting stuck in the building. Somehow Sandor broke through one of the side exits and rushed out onto the street with her. Others followed through the newly opened exit and spilled out around them. 

She and Sandor both coughed, lungs burning from inhaling the smoke. She collapsed in the street on her knees, her arms hugging her waist as she dry-heaved. Her eyes were watering from the smoke and she could barely see, so she just knelt there on the pavement, eyes squeezed shut as she tried to catch her breath. When she was finally able to open her eyes, she looked for him. He was no more than ten feet away, sitting down on the curb, his entire body shaking. 

_He saved me_ , she thought. She stood, her bare knees protesting as they left the pavement and moved toward him. She looked at him as he sat there, his head dropped down between his legs, fingers pulling at his hair. Before she knew it, she was standing right next to him, her hand going into his hair. He didn’t look up at her, but circled his arms around her waist, burying his face in her stomach. She spoke quietly to him, telling him it was alright now, that they were both safe. Her hands petted his hair as he held onto her tightly, struggling to regain his composure. 

When Sandor finally calmed down, he stood up, though his hands did not move from her waist. She was shocked to find that she’d wrapped her arms around his back when he’d gotten up. They stood there, Sansa studying his face while he looked back curiously, likely wondering why the hell she was touching him like this, as well as wondering why he was being allowed to touch _her_.

“Do you need to see a doctor?” He asked her finally. He took her chin in his fingers, turning her head this way and that as though looking for injuries.

“No, I’m fine,” she told him, though she wasn’t fine. Physically, Sansa had gotten out unscathed somehow, but she knew that she was still shaken from the fire. “What about you?”

Sandor shook his head and let go of her face, pushing gently at her shoulders to separate them a bit. “I’m ready to get out of here. Want me to give you a ride home?”

Sansa looked around at the crowds gathered outside the club. Countless ambulances and fire trucks had pulled all around the building. Paramedics were attending to the wounded and people were being immediately transferred to the ER. She hadn’t seen Joffrey and though she knew she should stick around to make sure he had gotten out, she didn’t really want to.

“Yes, please take me home.”

Sandor led her to his Jeep and admitted, “I’ve been drinking, Sansa. I shouldn’t have been drinking on the job and normally I’ve sobered up by the time we leave…” He trailed off. It was still relatively early in the evening, not even ten o’clock yet. Sandor probably didn’t leave the club until around three in the morning most of the time.

“I’ll drive,” she offered. Sansa, thankfully, hadn’t drunk anything. She took his keys and slid into the driver’s side.

“Buckle up,” she demanded when she saw that he hadn’t fastened the seat belt.

“I never buckle up,” he told her.

“Well, you will tonight. I won’t start this car until you do.”

Cursing under his breath, he fastened the buckle and glared over at her. “Happy?”

Sansa managed a small smile and nodded, then pulled away from the still-crowded parking lot. “Should I have stayed to give a statement or…?”

“Don’t know. You saw the same thing everyone else saw. If anything, Joffrey will have to stay to answer questions.”

Sansa nodded in understanding. It was Joffrey’s bad decisions that had caused the chaos.

Sansa drove to the loft apartment she shared with Joffrey, parking in the deck near her building. She turned off the engine and sat there for a moment, realizing she wasn’t ready to part with Sandor. Sansa tried to argue with herself that it was because she was worried about him, and she _was_ , but truthfully, being in his arms earlier had made her aware of the fact that she felt things with him that she’d never felt with Joffrey. He had barely touched her, but she would trade a million kisses with Joffrey for one occurrence of her hand brushing against Sandor’s.

She could feel him looking at her as she stared straight out the windshield at the concrete wall of the parking deck. He cleared his throat and said, “You want me to make sure you get up there alright?”

She just nodded and they both got out of the car. As they walked to her building, their arms were in constant contact, her skin brushing against his sleeve. As little contact as it was, it set Sansa’s nerves on edge. When they reached her building, Sansa put in the code and stepped inside. She held the door open for Sandor, who hesitated only a moment before slipping in behind her. They were silent as they made their way to the elevator, and similarly silent when the bell dinged and the doors slid open. 

Sansa stepped into the elevator carriage and met Sandor’s eyes expectantly. Giving her an unreadable look, he stepped in after her. 

“Thank you,” Sansa said quietly as they rode up to the eighth floor.

He didn’t answer her, but she could feel his eyes on her face. When the doors opened once again on her floor, Sandor made to the hit the ground floor button, but she grabbed his hand. 

“Can you…will you come in for just a few minutes? You’ve been drinking and I don’t think you’re good to drive yet.”

He met her eyes, his brows furrowing. There was a look of caution on his face. “I can sit in my car and sober up.”

Still holding his hand, Sansa stepped off the elevator, tugging at him to indicate he should follow.

“Sansa,” he said, his voice low and full of warning.

“Don’t tell me you’re worried what Joff would think,” she said impatiently, lifting her chin defiantly. “I don’t want you driving and I don’t want you sitting in your car for several hours. If you don’t want my company, I’ll go to bed. Or I’ll call you a cab.” She released his hand and placed hers on her hips, staring up at him and daring him to challenge her on this.

His eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened, but he didn’t say a word. He held out a hand to indicate _ladies first_ and Sansa strode to her door. He lingered behind her, clearly not sold that this was a good idea, but he followed her inside.

Sansa didn’t bother flipping on the living room light, but went straight to the kitchen, flipping the switch and making her way to the Keurig. She poked her head around the corner to see that Sandor was standing in the dark living room, barely three steps into the apartment. 

“Do you want coffee?”

“No.”

“Water?”

A few seconds passed before he answered, “Sure.”

Sansa retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge and set it on the peninsula that separated the kitchen from the dining area. She looked at him, then looked at the water, but said nothing. She would make him come get it. It was small, but it was her way of drawing him further into the room. It worked, though he shuffled his feet a bit and didn’t sit down on the stool.

She made herself coffee and stole peeks of him from beneath her lashes. He was staring down at the bottled water in his hand as though it had offended him. Once her coffee was finished, she sighed in frustration, drawing his attention to her. His eyes lifted from the water to her face, never changing his expression.

“I’ll go to bed if you’re that uncomfortable,” she said, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice, but she certainly felt rejected. He didn’t normally seem so averse to her company. “I really just don’t want you to leave while you’re drunk. I was serious when I said I’d call you a cab…anything to keep you from driving right now. It’s clear you don’t want to be here.” 

He sat the bottled water back on the peninsula, his eyes narrowing at her. He walked quickly around the peninsula and into the kitchen, a sneer forming on his face. “Wrong,” he rasped, glaring down at her. 

He was incredibly close, standing in her space and Sansa’s breathing quickened. He was inches away and Sansa tilted her head back to look up into his face. She could see the storm in his eyes and knew there must be some internal struggle he was suffering. _He doesn’t want to be alone either_ , she thought. _The fire has him out of sorts, but he doesn’t want to burden me._

Frightened that he would bark at her, she raised a shaking hand to his left cheek, feeling the unevenness of the scars under her fingers. He blinked rapidly, as though he couldn’t believe what she was doing, but didn’t pull away.

“I know it rattled you,” she said, hoping that she didn’t anger him by bringing up his past. “I know you aren’t okay. I’m not either. But you were brave…”

He jerked away from her then, snarling at her as he growled, “Brave, little bird? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I didn’t shit my pants, so I get a gold star, is that it?”

Sansa bit down on her lip to stop from screaming at him and her hand trembled as she suppressed the urge to slap him. She stood up straighter and poked a finger in his hard chest, twice, “Stop! Stop being so hateful! Why can’t you just let me be here for you? Why is that so bloody hard?”

“I don’t need you to be here for me,” he said mockingly, glaring down at her.

“I didn’t _say_ that you _needed_ me,” Sansa snapped back as she moved even closer to him, almost chest to chest; or rather, stomach to chest considering the height difference. “I _want_ to be here for you. I know…I know what you’ve been through. You told me and I get the feeling you don’t tell just anyone. I can’t imagine how hard it was for you to come back for me, but I know you did.”

Sandor backed up a few steps, though Sansa wasn’t sure if it was to put distance between them because he was uncomfortable at their proximity or if it was because his neck was tired of bending at an awkward angle to look down at her. He opened his mouth as though to deny it, but she cut him off.

“Don’t lie to me. You hate liars, don’t you? Don’t stand there and tell me that you happened on me by chance. You were right by the door, Sandor. You were bigger than everyone in the building. When I saw that the ceiling caught fire, I looked for you. You were gone. But then you somehow magically appeared minutes later and got me out. Go on and tell me you got to me by chance. We’ll both know you’re lying.”

Sansa wasn’t sure how long they stood there, glaring at one another, Sansa daring him to lie, but Sandor not daring to confirm what she said. When his eyes moved from her face, they swept down over her body, landing somewhere on her legs. She crossed her arms and was about to goad him further by accusing him of being unable to meet her eyes, when he said, “You’re scraped up.”

Sansa snapped her mouth shut; whatever she was about to say lost as she looked down at her legs. Both her knees bore tiny scratches where she’d collapsed on the pavement. Since she was wearing a short skirt and no pantyhose, there’d been no buffer between her skin and the hard ground. She barely felt it now, but Sandor was looking at them distractedly.

“You have something to clean that up?” He asked gruffly.

The fight left her and she nodded, her shoulders sagging n defeat at the change of subject. “In the master bathroom,” she said. 

“Lead the way.”

She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and walked to her bedroom, again opting to not flip on the light. He followed her, not near as tentatively as he had when he entered the apartment, but still several paces behind her. She turned on the light in the bathroom and opened the cabinet beneath the sink and retrieved peroxide, cotton swabs, antibiotic ointment, and bandages. She sat them on the counter and made to prop her foot on the toilet seat in order to reach her knee, but Sandor said, “I’ll do it.”

She turned around to protest, to tell him it was no big deal, but then his hands were on her hips and he was lifting her up to sit on the counter as though she were a child. This time, she did roll her eyes, but he ignored her. He quickly washed his hands at the sink. Then he popped open the peroxide and doused a cotton swab and set to his work. 

Sansa watched him, a bit fascinated. He dabbed the scrapes with the swab and then blew gently on her skin. Sansa fought a shiver as his warm breath drifted against her skin. She opened her mouth to tell him that peroxide didn’t burn, but then thought better of it. _Let him play caretaker for a while_.

After he had cleaned all of the small scrapes, he took another cotton swab and deposited a glop of ointment on the tip. He carefully smeared the medicine over her scrapes, all the while avoiding her eyes. But she couldn’t take her eyes off of him, and now that he was calmer, she wanted some answers.

“Why did you get me out of there?” He froze from his ministrations and straightened to his full height. Even with Sansa sitting on a counter, Sandor was still quite a bit taller than her. 

“Would you rather I’d have left you?” He snarled at her.

But Sansa was long done with being put off by his snarling. She narrowed her eyes at him and asked again, “Why did you get me out of there? I’m not leaving this alone. You can’t distract me by nurturing my booboos and then expect me to forget what we were talking about. Why did you come all the way back to the tables to get me?”

“What, did you think I was going to let you burn to death?” He growled at her, stepping closer to her as though to intimidate her. He was practically standing between her knees. But Sansa didn’t shy away from him then, that defiant tilt of her chin put to use once again. He kept on, “I may look like a fucking monster, little bird, but I wouldn’t leave anyone to this fate.” He jabbed at his scar, anger flashing in his eyes.

Sansa sat up straighter, irritated with his assumption that she looked at him as a monster. He couldn’t be further from the truth. Joffrey was the monster in her life, not Sandor. “There were plenty of other people there you could’ve helped, but you chose me. You’ve been through literal _hell_ , Sandor, but you came for me and you got me out. _Why?!_ ” Her voice had risen and she wasn’t sure why she was pushing him so much for an answer. She should’ve been thankful he’d saved her, should’ve left it at that.

In the next second, Sandor’s hands were on her hips and he lifted her down from the counter then pushed her back against it, towering over her. Her hands gripped at the material of his shirt as she looked up at him. “Why do you think?” The question came through gritted teeth, as though he was holding himself back from something.

“Tell me,” she demanded.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of the flashback...
> 
> Warning: Adult content.

(Seven Years Earlier)

She thought he meant to kiss her, so close was his face. Sansa may have been naïve, but the raw desire in his eyes was something even she could pick up on. The fingers on her hips dug into her skin, but it didn’t hurt; instead, Sansa welcomed the pressure. _Leave marks_ , she thought. _That way I’ll know this is real._ But he didn’t kiss her.

Instead, he dropped his head, the tip of his nose touching hers as his breath ghosted across her face. “Have you not answered your own question, Sansa? I’d walk through hell to keep you from harm. If something had happened to you…”

“What?” She demanded of him, greedy for details that he was reluctant to give. 

He shook his head then, dismissing her question. His eyes moved back over her face, settling on her lips, but he didn’t move. He wasn’t going to spell it out for her apparently.

So for the second time that night, Sansa lifted her hand to his scarred cheek, running her fingers over the twisted, bumpy surface. His eyes fluttered closed and his face relaxed in a way that she’d never seen before. Her thumb caressed the skin beneath his eye, touching the edge of his dark lashes. _Oh, Gods_ , she thought with a sudden realization, _it’s not just physical attraction. I care about him_. _And he cares about me_.

“Sandor,” her voice was quiet, shaky, and still a little hoarse from coughing so violently earlier, but he heard her. His eyes snapped open and she saw everything in them that he was unwilling to say.

Sansa lifted to her toes then, not thinking at all about what she was doing or what it meant or who was supposed to be coming home to her. The kiss was just a brush of her lips to his, barely any pressure at first. She kept her eyes closed as she pulled away, her tongue darting out to taste her bottom lip. She’d barely opened her eyes when he was on her, mouth pressing down onto hers in desperation. Her hands tangled into his hair, her body pressed all along his, his hard muscles contrasting against her soft curves.

The first feel of his tongue on her lips had her gasping into his mouth. She opened for him and felt the soft, wet slide and knew she was a goner. He kissed her as though he was starving and she was the meal. His hands moved down to her ass, pulling her hips forward. She whimpered when she felt his desire for her poking into her belly. She turned around, backing out of the bathroom door, kissing him all the while. Her legs hit the edge of the bed sooner than she expected them to and she fell backwards. Sandor kept his footing though and looked down at her, eyes darker than she’d ever seen. Sansa suddenly felt like prey caught in the snare of a predator. But she liked it. She grabbed the bottom of her dress and quickly pulled it over her head, kicking off her shoes at the same time. She was left in nothing but lacy black panties, which Sandor eyed with appreciation.

“Your turn,” she said a bit breathlessly.

His shirt came off slowly, his fingers plucking at the buttons methodically as he watched her. He shrugged out of the dress shirt, then pulled the tee shirt beneath over his head. He started on his belt afterward, but by that point, Sansa was transfixed by his naked torso. His chest was covered with dark hair that thinned out a bit at his stomach. Even in the low light and even through the dark hair, the definition of his abdominal muscles was startling. She’d known, of course, that he was in good shape; she’d known he had a flat stomach; but the fact that he was _ripped_ hadn’t really crossed her mind. She had never seen him bear a lot of skin, and while she had certainly developed a deep attraction to him, she hadn’t thought much about what he looked like under his clothes.

His arms were huge, which she’d also known, but now seeing just how strong he looked spoke to Sansa on a very primal level. By the time he dropped his pants and underwear and moved toward the bed, Sansa was almost panting with want. She backed up to the pillows and he came after her, moving his body over hers, but holding it away so that they didn’t touch. His legs were on the outside of Sansa’s, further preventing her from initiating any contact with their lower bodies. Sansa arched her back, desperately trying to reach him, but he kept away from her. 

“Kiss me,” it came out needy and weak, as though she were begging him.

Instead, he slid both his hands up to hers that lay on either side of her head, intertwining their fingers; his hands were so large they seemed to completely engulf hers and she could feel the roughness of his palms against the softness of her own. He bent his head and pressed his mouth to her collarbone, making her shiver beneath him. He pressed another kiss to the hollow of her throat. 

Sansa was burning up, skin overheated with desire. She wanted to touch him, but he kept her hands occupied, clasped in his. She wanted to taste him again, but his mouth was busy doing other things, torturous things. She arched again, trying to bring her bare torso into contact with his, but he curved his back, pulling away from her as his head dipped lower. She squirmed when she felt a hot gust of breath against the skin of her breast, and then cried out when he took her nipple gently between his lips, grazing teeth over sensitive flesh.

“Sandor, please,” she panted, hardly knowing what she was begging for. _More,_ she thought, _just more. Of everything._

His tongue flicked out against her hard little peak and she whimpered, pushing her breast closer to his face as he teased her. His lips latched around her then and he sucked and she felt the fire that had been ignited in her belly would surely burn her up. She felt it all over her body; all the way to the spot between her legs where she ached for him. Her hips jerked forward, trying to find something to bump against, something to relieve the pressure building inside her.

Sandor tore his mouth away from her breast with a growl and pushed her hands above her head, trapping both of hers in one of his. He looked down at her and his eyes were wild when they met hers. They flicked to her lips, down to her breasts, followed the length of her torso before stopping where she was moving her hips. He groaned low in his throat as he watched her pant and writhe under his gaze, and then with his free hand, he grabbed hold of her lace panties at her hip. But her legs were trapped between his, so he couldn’t pull them down her legs without moving. So instead, he gave a great tug and ripped them clean off. Maybe she should’ve been scared at such an animalistic action or maybe she should’ve been worried that he would be rough with her. Sansa felt neither of those things, only a rush of wetness between her thighs as she was finally bare to him. 

Gods, the way he looked at her. He was big and strong and scary, but she could see in his eyes that she had made him weak as he stared at her, his breath labored. Sansa tried to sit up when she saw him take hold of himself, running his hand up and down the length, but between the darkness of the room and the way he held her hands, she couldn’t properly see what he was doing. 

When he ran the tip of his erection up and down her slit, Sansa cried out again, trying to spread her trapped legs wider, hoping he wouldn’t take much longer.

He hissed in pleasure at what he found as he teased her. “Fucking hells, girl,” he bit out, his voice sounding weak.

“Don’t call me _girl_ ,” she snapped.

She was answered with a deep, rumbling chuckle as he slid the tip up and down her slit again, covering himself in her wetness. He leaned back over her and she felt the length of him against her thigh and she wanted to cry because he was making her wait again. His free hand slid up to her breast, weighing it in his hand, running his thumb along the nipple. He buried his face in the space between her neck and shoulder.

She felt his breath caress her he nuzzled into her neck, his beard scratching against her skin as he spoke into her ear. “Do you know how much I want you? Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?”

She shook her head. “Why don’t you tell me?”

His lips moved to her cheek, pressing soft kisses to the flushed skin. “Forever. Since I first I saw you. Since you first opened your mouth and chirped at me.” He dipped his head to her ear, grazing his teeth against the lobe. “There’s never been anything as sweet as you, little bird.”

Chill bumps erupted across her body and she arched into him again, turning her face towards his, desperate to feel his mouth on hers, desperate for him to be inside her too; but his knees were still placed on either side of her hips. She wriggled beneath him, yearning for the contact of his hips pressed to hers. He nipped at her ear again, and then her jaw, and finally he moved his mouth over hers.

Sansa opened for him, moaning as his tongue swept into her mouth at the same time he readjusted, moving to the inside of her legs, pushing them further apart with his knees. He leaned into her, his hard chest pressed against her body. His hair tickled her sensitive skin and Sansa squirmed, trying to tug her hands from his grasp. He finally let her go and she wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him in closer as their tongue slid together. 

He broke from her, breathing heavily. She could feel the tip of him pressing against her opening and rocked her hips forward impatiently. “Tell me to stop,” he rasped. “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll go right now.”

“Do. NOT. Stop.” She said it louder than necessary, but she wanted him to know she was serious. She nipped at his bottom lip with her teeth and he growled into her mouth. 

He slipped into her then and she gasped. Her fingers went into his hair and her mouth fell open in an ‘o’ as he sank into her. There was only a moment of discomfort at the fullness before he started moving, and then all Sansa felt was _right_. Her legs wrapped around his waist, the heels of her feet digging into his ass as he snapped his hips into her. 

And he was talking to her all the while between kisses, saying the sweetest things, the dirtiest things she’d ever heard.

“So fucking hot,” he growled against her mouth, each sentence punctuated with a thrust. “And tight. And wet.” Sansa couldn’t speak, so overcome with sensation she was, but she gripped his hair tighter, to the point it must have been painful, but he only hissed in pleasure. “Gods, the things I would do to you if I had the time.”

“What things?” She gasped as he sat up suddenly, changing angles. He pushed her knees up to her chest and pushed into her again, hitting a spot that made Sansa see stars.

One of the hands at the back of her thighs moved between them, sliding to the top of slit and dipping inside, thumb finding the little bundle of nerves.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Sansa cried out, shocked at herself for being driven to use that kind of language.

His thumb worked circles around the sensitive nub as he drove into her. “Not enough time to even tell you,” he grunted, his pace picking up.

She tightened around him, the pressure inside her building rapidly to the point she felt helpless. Her fingers dug into the sheets beneath her, desperately trying to find an anchor in the storm of sensation she was feeling. Her eyes slid closed as her body began to tense, so lost was she in the feel of him, but just as she reached the crest and was about to tumble over, he growled “ _Look at me_.”

Her eyes flew open and she watched his face as he let go, his eyes unguarded for once, and she vaguely thought, _he looks at me like he loves me_ , before she followed him over the cliff, her body seizing with the shocks of pleasure. 

He collapsed on top of her, his forehead coming to rest against hers. He quickly rolled away though, likely worrying about crushing her beneath him, but instantly gathered her to his side, one arm wrapping round her waist while the fingers of his other hand tangled in her hair. She pressed kisses to the muscles on his chest, her tongue darting out to taste the salt of his sweat. 

“I’ve wanted you too,” she said, fighting to keep her eyes open. “For so long.”

There were a million things she wanted to say to him, but exhaustion won out. She slipped into unconsciousness no more than a couple of minutes after they’d finished. 

When she woke up late the next morning, light spilling in from the balcony, he was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

(Present Day)

Sansa rushed home from work that evening, immediately stripped off all her clothes and jumped in the shower, not bothering to turn the knob for the hot water at all. She stood beneath the cold water, gasping as it cooled her skin. It had been a long time since she had let herself remember all the events of that night. Sometimes the dreams she had were very accurate, and other times her mind seemed to add and subtract things.

When Sansa finally was able to focus on something other than reliving what it had been like with him inside her, she turned the knob for the hot water. She stood under the shower head, eyes closed, as the water beat down on her face. She had been so careful over the years, pushing away pervasive memories of that night. 

At first, the memories had completely consumed her, back when she thought he might reappear in her life; but gradually, Sansa had realized that Sandor was lost to her and had made a concerted effort to let him go. Anytime her thoughts wandered to him, she would shut them down before she could relive their night together in its entirety. Of course, she’d been unable to stop thinking about him in bits and pieces, but she felt some measure of control knowing that she could stop herself from replaying the whole thing.

The dreams had been what haunted her, but she couldn’t control those. And apparently now with Sandor’s sudden reappearance in her life, she could no longer control her daydreams either. She remembered everything that had happened, everything that they’d said to one another, the look in his eyes, and how she’d felt when he’d finally sunk into her. When she shut off the water, her hands were trembling. 

_I can’t do this. I can’t live like this._

She wasn’t sure if she could be friends with him when he still affected her so. She was both repelled by and drawn to him. She didn’t want to leave herself open to be hurt by him again, but she couldn’t seem to stay away from him. And somehow, she knew he would understand if she told him that she needed space. If Sansa were to tell him to back the hells off and stay away from her, she had no doubt that Sandor would make himself scarce until she was able to finish up her twelve weeks and leave for good.

But she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to do it. It wasn’t Sandor’s fault that she couldn’t move past how she felt about him. And the sheer number of things she felt about him was alarming. Desire, anger, something that may have been like love had it been allowed to take root and grow…

She couldn’t keep living this way though. She couldn’t move on with her life if she still felt so strongly about him. And then there was Theon.

As Sansa dressed, she made up her mind that she needed to call her boyfriend. Talking to a man she was emotionally attached to would surely help rid her of her most recent daydream about Sandor. Once she had her nightclothes on and had brushed out her hair, she called him, hoping that he didn’t have to work late.

He answered almost immediately. “Hey, baby,” she could hear the smile in his voice.

Sansa smiled too. “Hey, Theon. I didn’t catch you at a bad time, did I?”

“Nope,” he said. “Besides, everything else can fuck off when you call. You’re more important.” He said it so easily, as though he didn’t even have to think about it. “How has your day been?”

“Oh, well,” Sansa chewed her lip, wondering if she should just tell him ‘fine’ and spare him the details.

“That bad?”

Sansa gave an exasperated laugh. “Well, yeah. It’s been pretty bad. Someone threw up on me this morning. And _then_ , someone else tried to beat me up because she didn’t want to be checked into rehab. It’s been a long day. It’s not even six o’clock and I’m already in my pajamas.”

“Yikes. I’m sorry, babe. I wish I had a horrible story about my day to make you feel better, but it’s been a good day.”

“I’m glad you’ve had a good day,” Sansa said. “I would never wish this crap on anyone else. Well, maybe Arya when she’s being an especially large pain in the ass.”

“Well, I do have one shitty thing going on that may rival your bad day…”

“What?”

“I miss my girlfriend and she’s working hours away,” he said cheekily.

“Oh, shut up,” she laughed. “You know, I’ve got my first full weekend off this week. I might be able to shift some things around and trade days and get four or five days…what do you think?”

“Or I could come there,” he suggested.

“No!” Sansa said, a little too quickly.

“Or not…”

“It’s just that…you know, this is an island and there’s nothing much to do here. I’m not even sure if they allow guests for the staff…”

“I figured that much. I figured I’d stay in Saltpans. But if you can arrange it, I’d love to see you. We could stay at Winterfell, if you want.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing Mom and Dad too,” Sansa admitted, mentally running through who she could swap shifts with to make this trip happen.

“Homesick?”

Sansa sighed, “Yeah, I guess I could be.” She wasn’t though. She knew that wasn’t the problem. She’d been doing this job for years and, while she occasionally felt she went too long without seeing her family, she’d never gotten depressed and wanted to go home. Is that what it sounded like to Theon? The truth was that she really needed some physical distance between herself and Sandor.

But she certainly couldn’t explain that her mood was a result of unresolved feelings for another man. That was _not_ a conversation that she ever wanted to have.

“I miss you, Sansa,” Theon said.

“I miss you too,” she answered back. “I’ll work on the logistics of getting off and get back with you, okay?”

“Alright,” Theon said, “I’m about to walk into the grocery store and lose service, so I’ll talk to you later. Bye, San.”

“Bye,” Sansa said, trying to sound cheerful. She tossed her phone onto her nightstand and flung herself back against her pillow. She needed a distraction and so she resolved that the next day, she would do a little exploring off the isle. Her shirt ended at four o’clock, which was early enough for her to take a trip to Saltpans or Maidenpool. 

She rose early the next day and grabbed a muffin for breakfast rather than risk seeing Sandor in the dining hall, though she knew he usually skipped breakfast. She avoided the dining hall again at lunchtime, instead eating some yogurt and hiding out in the staff breakroom in the clinic. When the end of her shift came, she rushed up to her cottage and quickly changed into a tunic-length sweater and leggings, sliding brown boots over them. She rushed down to the ferry landing, though she knew she’d probably have to wait awhile before the next ferry arrived. She opened up her Kindle app and read a bit of a true crime story she’d started.

Once on the ferry, Sansa found that the ferry had just come from Saltpans and was headed to Maidenpool. Sansa hadn’t visited Maidenpool yet, so she decided she would get off there. Being the end of the work day for many people on the isle, it was pretty crowded. Luckily, Sansa didn’t mind standing up and stood at the railing, watching the Quiet Isle grow smaller and smaller as the ferry traveled southeast. Maidenpool was further from the Isle than Saltpans, but it didn’t take too terribly long to reach the ferry landing. 

Maidenpool was a very old city with a pink stone wall still standing around its borders. Just east of the ferry landing was Maidenpool’s harbor and its downtown area was in that vicinity as well. Sansa took off walking, admiring the old architecture along the way. Sansa’s favorite story as a child originated in Maidenpool and she felt some excitement at the prospect of discovering the town in which Jonquil had fallen in love with Florian.

Once she’d made it into the little town proper, there were endless little shops to choose from. She entered whatever stores looked interesting and wound up buying some old books in a used bookstore. When she came to the famous spring-fed pool, Sansa fought the urge to go have a peak at it. It was now maintained by Sisters of the Faith and was popular among those who believed it to still have healing powers. She remembered that after Bran’s accident, their grandmother Tully had urged Catelyn to bring her son to the pools in hopes that it would heal him. Both Catelyn and Ned had believed it to be nonsense and had never wasted their time, but Sansa had secretly wished that they would have let them visit, if only for the history associated with the place.

Before she knew it, darkness had settled over the town. It was still quite busy though and the streetlights illuminated everything so that Sansa felt safe enough to continue her exploration. She was getting hungry though. She had spent quite a bit of time in the small stores and exploring the old city and by the time she thought to check her watch, it was nearing seven o’clock. She was walking along the brick pathway the followed the coast, admiring the view of the bay and trying to decide if she wanted to eat supper in Maidenpool or hurry to catch the next ferry back to the Quiet Isle, when she froze on the spot, her mouth popping open. 

“Seven hells!” A woman said from behind her who had narrowly missed walking right into her thanks to Sansa’s sudden stop. The woman walked on past, shooting a dirty look over her shoulder. 

“Sorry,” Sansa mumbled, staring across the street at where a very large, very muscular man, was waiting in line at a coffee stand, his constant companion at his side, tail wagging.

It was like the universe sent him to torture her. She had left the Quiet Isle to get some distance from Sandor and put him out of her mind, yet there he stood, towering over everyone, grumpy scowl present, buying coffee just across the street from her. She thought of walking on, catching the ferry and putting distance between them once again, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him. She watched as he sat on a low brick wall along the sidewalk, sipping at his coffee. His mouth was moving and Sansa figured he was talking to Cooper. His long, dark hair was loose and hanging around his face, clearly in an effort to conceal his scars the best he could. A breeze caught the strands and lifted them away from his cheek and she watched him duck his head down.

_There’s no need to hide, Sandor_ , she wanted to tell him. How could it be that after all these years that he was still sensitive about something he couldn’t help? Other people’s reactions were cruel, she knew, but she wished that his “I-don’t-give-a-fuck” attitude extended to the appearance of his scars. It wasn’t fair that he should have to hide because other people might be uncomfortable. She found her way to the nearest crosswalk and made her way toward him, seemingly unable to stay away from him. He didn’t immediately notice her, so she sat down at his side.

Sandor jerked his head toward her, clearly shocked that some stranger had decided to sit so close to him, blinked a couple of times as though to make sure he wasn’t imagining her, and then gave her a smile that made her weak.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

_Trying to get away from you_. Aloud, she said, “I needed to get away from the Isle for a bit. I’ve never been to Maidenpool. Do you know that my favorite fairytale originated here?”

He snorted and shook his head, looking off toward the bay. “Doesn’t surprise me. I remember you being fond of those stories full of romance.”

“Yes, and I remember how you feel about it as well. ‘A fool and his cunt’, if I’m not mistaken.” She had meant it jokingly, but it came out a little bitter.

“Doesn’t matter what I think about it. I’ve no business telling you what you should and shouldn’t like.”

_How can you be the same Sandor I knew, and yet still be so different_ , Sansa thought in wonder as she stared at him. His scarred side was facing her, but the urge to reach over and push back the hair from his face was strong. If this had been the Sandor from the past sitting here with her, he would have told her what an idiot she was for still enjoying her old romantic stories. 

“Why are you here?” She asked.

“I come here at least once a week, just to get off the Isle. After my last afternoon appointment, when I found out my appointment for tonight moved to tomorrow morning, I decided on a last-minute trip.” He turned to face her, giving her an odd look. “Didn’t see you at lunch.”

“I wasn’t very hungry,” Sansa said. “I had a muffin for breakfast and yogurt for lunch,” at that statement, Sandor gave her a stern look, which she chose to ignore. “It’s caught up with me. I’m hungry now. I suppose I worked up an appetite. Bought some books, candles, soap,” she held up her bags. She gave him a sly smile as she said, “I went to see the building where the famous pool is housed.” He rolled his eyes at that.

“You want to grab some food now?”

_I should tell him no. I should make up some excuse about being tired. I’m only hurting myself by doing this._ But instead, she nodded, apparently unable to refuse being near him whenever possible. He stood from the wall without another word. Sansa hopped off and followed him.

“You have somewhere in mind, I’m assuming?” Sansa asked.

Sandor nodded. “If I remember correctly, you will eat just about anything. Despite your frequent consumption of rabbit food, I’m guessing you still like real food?”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Salads are real food, Sandor. And they’re delicious.”

“No rabbit food tonight, little bird. You like lobster?”

As it turned out, Sandor was very familiar with Maidenpool. He took her to a restaurant near the harbor that Sansa suspected one could only find if they’d been there before. It was small, but very busy, and Sandor suggested taking their meal out on the small patio. Even though autumn was in full-swing, unlike the permeating chill of White Harbor, Maidenpool’s weather was still pleasant enough to enjoy the outdoors. At first, Sansa wondered if Cooper was allowed in the restaurant, but there was another family sitting just outside the restaurant at a patio table with a dog secured to a chair leg with a leash. At Sansa’s questioning look, Sandor explained, “Most of the restaurants down around the harbor allow dogs, especially at their outdoor areas.”

“Do you take him everywhere?” Sansa asked, resisting the urge to reach down and scratch Cooper’s head.

Sandor nodded. “He’s my pal. He goes where I go.”

“Do you think he might have warmed up to me now?” Sansa asked.

Sandor looked over at her, amusement evident on his face. He bent down to rubbed at Cooper’s ears then looked up to her. “Alright, little bird. Give him some love, I guess.”

Sansa barely contained a squeal of delight as she knelt next to Sandor and scratched Cooper’s head and his chin. Cooper clearly didn’t mind the attention. He closed his eyes and tilted his face up so Sansa could better reach his chin. The host came to let them know that a table was ready, and Sansa reluctantly pulled away from Cooper, who opened his eyes and looked up at her mournfully. _Guess I’m not a stranger anymore_.

As they ate their meal, Sandor was mostly silent. Sansa tried not to watch him too much, but keeping her eyes off him was proving to be a difficult task. She was feeling too many things at once and she wasn’t sure how to untangle them without trying to talk to him. Clearly, he wasn’t opposed to spending time with her as he seemed to take advantage of it every chance he got. What she couldn’t determine was if there might be some interest there or if he just really needed a friend.

And what if he was interested? It shouldn’t mean anything to Sansa. She had been dating Theon for a year or more and she liked him a lot. If Sandor was interested in her, she knew she should tell him that he should’ve thought about that before abandoning her. At least, that’s how she had always described his abrupt departure from her life. It occurred to her that maybe Sandor didn’t view it that way at all. Maybe it had been a one-night stand and he’d left because he was done with her. Was he being nice all these years later because he carried some guilt over it?

It was all too much. They were having dinner together as this cozy little restaurant on the bay, close enough that Sansa could feel the evening breeze, with stringed lights hanging above their heads at a table for two. It felt like a date. Something must have passed over her face because Sandor froze, eyes narrowing as he studied her expression.

“What is it?” Of course, it came out as a growl, because when was he _not_ growling at her?

Sansa threw down her napkin and looked away, out toward the bay where the lights from boats shone light stars over the black water. She was gritting her teeth so hard her jaw ached. “I need answers from you.”

Sandor wasn’t stupid, she’d give him that. Rather than looking perplexed, he sat up straighter, shoulders back, eyes hard as steel. “What kind of answers?”

“What is this exactly?” She gestured around them at the dinner and the romantic setting.

He must have anticipated a more direct question because he blinked at her stupidly before saying simply, “Dinner.”

“Why?”

“Because you were hungry.”

“Fine,” Sansa said, moving on from the present and getting down to what really bothered her. “I’d like to know why you abandoned me. And I want a real answer.”

He barked a cruel laugh. “Abandon you? When did I abandon you, Sansa? Last I checked…last you _told me_ , you were a grown woman.”

“So you know what I’m talking about,” she said, glad at least that he wasn’t going to play dumb.

“What else would you be talking about? We’ve already had this conversation once and considering how it went…”

“We have NOT had this conversation. I tried to, but you walked out. Is that what you’re planning on doing now?”

The waiter, clearly curious about their raised voices, appeared suddenly and asked about the checks. Sandor gruffly told him it was one check and handed him his card.

“I can buy my own food,” Sansa said, angry at this too, because how dare he insist on buying her meal when he was treating her like her questions were stupid?

“Can’t now,” he said. “It’s taken care of.”

“Are you going to answer my question?”

“Not here,” he said, sitting back in his seat to watch her.

Sansa thought of jumping up and stomping off just then. If he was paying, then she was free to leave, and she found that she no longer wanted to be in his company. But then, she realized that she still wanted her answers and if she had to pester the hells out of him to get them, she would. They sat there glaring at one another until the waiter returned with Sandor’s card. He signed the check and slapped the little folder closed and stood up, Cooper hopping up to join him. He didn’t even wait for her to rise from her seat before he was walking off, headed toward the sidewalk that ran parallel to the bay. Sansa almost had to run to keep up with him.

“Hey!” She caught up to him and tugged on his shirt. “We are _not_ done!”

He stopped and turned around to face her, so close and so much taller than her that Sansa had to tilt her head back to look up at him. “Fine,” he bit out. “Ask away.”

“Obviously you don’t think you abandoned me, but I’m not sure what else to call it. How can I ask it in a way that will make you answer?”

“I have answered, Sansa. You just don’t like the answer.”

“Let me get this straight then,” she hated the sound of the wobble in her voice, the promise of tears stinging at the back of her eyes, but she pushed on. “You dragged me out of a burning building, went home with me, had sex with me, and then left…without a trace…for _seven_ years, and you think you’ve given me a clear answer?”

“You asked why I abandoned you. I didn’t. There is nothing to answer.”

In a fit of rage, Sansa slapped at the hard muscles of his chest, wishing that it rattled him, but he barely flinched. Her hands balled into fists and her short nails bit into the skin of her palms. “So it meant nothing to you?”

He opened his mouth, likely to deliver something painful and insulting, but snapped it shut again, and glared down at the ground between them. “Why is this important suddenly?”

“Suddenly?” She took a step back from him as though he’d slapped her, staring up at him in shock. “It’s always been important. Do you not realize…all those years since we…” She couldn’t find the words and she realized she sounded ridiculous. That old fear came back to her that maybe that night hadn’t meant as much to him as it had to her. But then, she could never get past it if she didn’t explain why she was so angry. Then it occurred to her that he didn’t seem to know just how angry she’d been.

She took a deep breath and started again. “I’m really angry. I have been really angry for years. And hurt. I thought that maybe there was something between us…”

“Because we had sex?”

The words cut into her deep and though part of her could have shriveled up at his feet for the blow, another part of her _just knew_ that he was trying to stop her talking about that night, trying to wound her to shield himself for some reason.

“Yeah,” she said, feeling the tears well up in her eyes. “Because we had sex.”

Sandor stared at her, that old rage she hadn’t seen since she found him again creeping into his eyes. She wasn’t frightened though. As many things as she was feeling in that moment, fear hadn’t crossed her mind. He looked away from her, pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers as though she was causing him the biggest headache ever, and then looked back. “What do you want me to say, Sansa? You want me to say I’m sorry? I am. Do you want me to say that I wish things had been different? I do. I wish that night had turned out a lot different. Do you want me to tell you that I regret leaving you? I regret that too. But I can’t change the past. I can’t turn back time and do things differently, and if I could, none of it would’ve happened.”

Sansa opened her mouth to ask what he would’ve done differently when a woman appeared at Sandor’s side, looking between the two of them with worry. The woman was accompanied by a kid, probably around six or seven, who was staring up at Sandor with wide eyes.

“Miss, are you okay?” The woman asked, shooting a worried look at Sandor. “Do you need me to call someone?”

“What?” Sansa blinked at her in confusion. “No…”

The little boy’s attention had turned to Cooper and as he reached over to touch the dog’s head, Sandor reached down to block it, laying his own hand against Cooper’s head. The little boy looked at him, outraged.

Distractedly, the woman said, “Keelan, you know not to pet a dog unless you ask first…” She turned her attention back to Sansa, “So you’re okay?”

Sansa had no idea what the woman was getting at. She knew that she and Sandor had been arguing in a pretty heated manner, but neither had actually shouted, and aside from her slapping at his chest, they hadn’t touched.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Really…”

“Sir, can I pet your dog?” The little boy asked, already trying to reach around Sandor to get to Cooper.

_Oh, Gods, please don’t let Cooper bite this kid’s arm off_ , Sansa thought.

Sandor tensed up and a low growl emitted from his chest. “No. You can’t pet him. He doesn’t like strangers.”

The woman turned her attention from Sansa to Sandor, her mouth falling open in disbelief. Her hands went to her hips, “Are you _serious_? He asked nicely!”

Sandor’s brow shot up and he straightened to his full height, snarling at the woman. “Aye, and I told him no…maybe not _nicely_ , but he got his answer.”

“What kind of jerk doesn’t let a little boy pet a perfectly friendly dog?” The woman grabbed the boy’s hand and pulled him away from Sandor, but didn’t leave, seemingly waiting on an answer.

“The kind of jerk who has a dog that doesn’t like strangers,” Sandor said, speaking slowly as though the woman was an idiot, and in Sansa’s opinion, she appeared to be just that.

“He seems friendly to me,” the woman sniffed. “Seems it’s his _owner_ who has the attitude problem. Maybe someone needs to rescue your dog and this poor lady here from such a brute!”

Sandor was practically shaking with rage, but it was Sansa’s control that snapped just then. She turned to the lady, stepping between her and Sandor, and stuck a finger in her face. “You don’t even _know_ him! How dare you? He’s not a brute and his dog is pretty happy with him. Did it ever occur to you that maybe he was trying to keep your kid from getting bit?”

The woman was shaking her head angrily. “Probably taught the dog to bite,” she said nastily, finally turning away and pulling her kid along with her.

Sansa turned back to Sandor who was glaring a hole in the woman’s back. He reached down and patted Cooper’s head and Sansa found that when he met her eyes, the fight had gone out of her. He waited a moment, glaring at her and clearly thinking if she was going to start in on him again, but Sansa just said to him, “Ready to head back?”

“Aye,” he said quietly, though she could virtually feel anger rolling off of him. They walked in silence back to the ferry landing and, unfortunately, had to wait nearly an hour to catch a ride. Both of them messed with their phones the whole time, barely saying anything to one another.

When they arrived back at the Quiet Isle, Sandor quietly offered to walk her back to her cottage.

She had taken him up on every one of his offers so far, but after the emotional upheaval she’d just experienced, she looked over her shoulder at him and said, “No, thank you.”

She could tell that her answer surprised him, but he just nodded and headed off in the opposite direction.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And finally, the long-awaited Sandor POV!...which includes another flashback.

_I’ve lost her. For the second time._

Sandor felt a tightness in his chest as he walked back to his cottage with Cooper at his side. She hadn’t looked angry when she had declined his offer to walk her back to her cottage, she’d just looked…done.

He hadn’t thought to ever see her again, had grown content, if not quite happy, with his place on the Isle. Then she’d appeared in the barn, recklessly approaching Stranger, and his first thought was that she couldn’t be real.

Apparently, Sansa thought the same thing because she’d promptly passed out. Holding her in his arms as he carried her to the clinic had been like heaven and hell combined. He never thought he’d get the chance to hold her again, but he knew he was just making it harder on himself.

After their initial argument, it had seemed like Sansa wanted to be his friend. He saw her almost every day in passing and found himself unable to ignore her or rush away with only a nod of his head. He craved her presence and what little he saw her did nothing but make him want to see her more. Eventually, she asked him to eat with her and he’d done it two days in a row. Today, the third day, she hadn’t shown up in the dining hall, so he’d eaten with Ray Elder, who tried to talk to him about the “pretty redhead”.

He’d taken a trip to Maidenpool just to put some distance between the two of them, aggravated by how much he’d missed her company even though they’d only had lunch together twice. And of _fucking_ course, she was in Maidenpool too. Unable to resist, apparently, he’d offered to take her out to eat.

_And that’s when the shit hit the fan_. Sandor knew that something was off with her. He knew that she was still unsettled by his lack of answers regarding where he’d been all this time. He felt like he’d answered her when he told her he’d been on the Quiet Isle the whole time. As it turned out, she was more pissed about why he’d left in the first place rather than where he’d been.

The hurt was evident in her eyes when he refused to tell her, when he’d said those terrible things to her about how it was only sex…he hated liars and yet he’d lied to the person who, at one time, had been the most important person in his life. He tried to tell himself it was for the best, but he kept seeing her face, the tears that had gathered in her eyes.

_You did that, you piece of shit_.

When he arrived back at his cottage, he put Cooper inside then turned back around, headed up the path. He needed to talk to her, to tell her that he’d never had any intention of abandoning her, that _fate_ – he sneered at the word – had apparently had other plans for him.

He needed to tell her the truth, or at least most of it, or she would never trust him again, never speak to him again. He hadn’t given her a lot of reason to have faith in him since they’d found one another again, but he realized he _wanted_ her to have faith in him, wanted her to trust him. Part of him acknowledged that he’d been a shittier person to her since they had reunited than he had been all those years ago. It was almost comical really because while he was sober, a lot less angry, and certainly more mature, there was no denying that he had been more reliable, more loyal to her when he knew her before. He wanted to change that and the only way to do it was through the truth.

When he found himself at her cottage door, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for the possibility of more rejection, then raised his fist to knock.

~*~*~

(Seven Years Earlier – Sandor)

Sandor woke up abruptly, too warm to be able to sleep. He kicked the covers away, then realized the source of the heat was the woman in his arms. They hadn’t bothered to turn off the bathroom light, so her face was partially illuminated. 

Her hair was all over the place, a tangled mess of auburn. He pushed the strands out of her face to see her better, enjoying being able to look at her without worrying that someone would catch him. Her cheeks were a little flushed, likely from all the heat the two of them were generating by being wrapped around one another. Never in a million years had he thought to find himself with her in his arms. He dreamed of it often and then hated himself when he woke up. But she was real.

Gods, she was beautiful. She didn’t even have to try. Her eyes, her pouty bottom lip, her fair skin and the freckles dotted along her nose…they were all perfection. And that hair. He ran his fingers through the tangled locks, hoping he wouldn’t wake her up doing so. Though if he did wake her up, if she wasn’t too terribly upset about it, they could have another go…

It couldn’t be real life. He didn’t understand how she could want him as he wanted her. Everything about the woman was perfect – not just physically. Sandor had come across many, many beautiful women. He’d spent a lot of nights with beautiful women. But he hadn’t cared for any of them, nor had they cared for him beyond what he could do for their reputation. They all liked the thought of taming a bad boy for a night and he happily went along with it since it got him laid.

But Sansa was a different matter altogether. He couldn’t even remember when he started wanting Sansa. Maybe he’d lusted for her from the beginning. The first night he’d seen her, she was being dragged through the back corridor of Club Fury by Joffrey. She’d been wearing a tiny, shimmery purple dress that barely covered anything and giggling like a teenager. But then, she probably was still a teenager at the time. 

She’d bumped into him and his scars had scared her. He wanted to tell her to grow a pair, even though she was a woman, and tell her it was just his gods-damned face and that there was nothing to be frightened of. But she was his boss’s girlfriend, so he kept his mouth shut. He probably hated her those first few months because he expected her to be the female version of Joffrey. He learned eventually that that wasn’t the case.

Sansa Stark, as it turned out, was sweet, and kind, and genuinely cared for other people. Sandor had no idea how Joffrey had snagged her. Then Sandor figured that since Joffrey was wealthy and handsome that Sansa was just with him for those reasons. But she didn’t seem shallow. In fact, the more time he spent around her, the more genuine she seemed.

He didn’t know at one point they became friends, if that’s what it could be called. It had happened so organically that he didn’t realize that they were spending most of their time at the club together until a regular asked where his pretty redheaded friend was one night. Sometimes, he caught himself smiling at her and quickly stopped, thinking it must be a horrible sight.

As much as he was aware that she was way out of his league, he was aware of when things shifted again, this time from friendship to _something else_. And it was definitely something else. There was no touching and no flirting, but there were plenty of heated stares. He would catch her eyes sliding over his body like a caress and feel both aroused and bewildered the rest of the night. She would catch him too, eyes roaming her body as if she was a feast and he a starved man, but she never called him out on it, only blushed and looked at him from beneath her lashes. Even worse were the moments when their eyes met and held, neither of them ready to stop looking, but clearly too chicken shit to act on whatever was between them.

Last night the fire had made them both vulnerable. Sandor still wasn’t sure if they were supposed to leave the scene of such a tragedy, but he had no desire to stick around and find out if Joffrey burned up in those flames. He had left at the first sign of the flames touching the ceiling. But ultimately, facing fire was less terrifying than Sansa dying. He’d burst back through the doorway before it became so clogged, fought his way through the horde of people moving against him. He was much larger than everyone else, so fighting his way back to her was never an issue. 

Once he got her out, it was clear to him that he would’ve gladly burned to death as long as he could have saved her. The thought of that hellish heat touching her skin made him physically ill. He remembered the pain, dreamt about it time and again, and he would rather lie down and die than to watch her burn.

She wasn’t a fool. She knew everything he felt for her, had to; that much had been clear when she’d pushed him to explain why he’d saved her and no one else. She saw right through him, had to know that he was completely and madly in love with her. But he couldn’t say the words. He couldn’t let himself have any hope only to be crushed by the reality that he would never have her. But she knew. She came into his arms like she was made to be there and let him make love to her because she knew how he felt. He was certain of it.

And as he lay there, he realized the dilemma he was faced with. He loved her and he had no fucking idea how he was going to let her go after this. Darkness crept in as he watched her sleep. He shouldn’t have slept with her. She was still engaged to Joffrey for one – not that Sandor gave a flying fuck about the little cunt’s feelings. But as badly as Joffrey treated Sansa, she hadn’t left him yet. Maybe she hadn’t planned on ever leaving him.

Before he could calm himself, he was in the clutches of his anger, glaring down at her as her hair stirred around her face as she breathed out. No, she wouldn’t leave Joffrey. If she knew that she had someone on the side that would treat her tenderly and give her a good fuck when she wanted it, why would she leave Joffrey? He was rich and handsome and came from a long line of money. In a few years, Sansa and Joffrey would be living in a mansion of their own. What spoiled rich girl would ever give that up?

Did she think that he’d always be around to please her when Joffrey wasn’t getting the job done? A voice in his head whispered that he would be okay with that. He would take any part of her he could get. He would beg for whatever scraps she’d give him. He’d watch her marry Joffrey and pop out little blonde-haired, blue-eyed babies and smile prettily for the camera for their holiday photos. Sandor would be her dirty little secret, kept in the dark, only called upon when she grew tired of Joffrey ignoring her. He should give into it. He should fucking accept his fate and be thankful for the little piece of her she would allow him to have.

But he was a jealous, selfish fucker. The thought of Joffrey ever touching her again after he’d had her made him want to snap his scrawny neck. The thought of anyone touching her again made him feel violent. He wanted her to be his – completely his. But the more he thought about the likelihood of that being a reality, the more he doubted that it was attainable. 

He was glad he hadn’t told her how he felt now. He’d said too much as it was, but at least he hadn’t spilled all of his fucking guts to her. He had come close though, the alcohol loosening his lips. He hadn’t been so drunk that he didn’t remember what he actually said though.

_“I’d walk through hell to keep you from harm.”_

_“Do you know how much I want you? Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?”_

_“There’s never been anything as sweet as you, little bird.”_

Yes, the words he had spoken were damaging enough, but at least he hadn’t said what he really felt. Those feelings and words washed back over him now as he looked at her again, his anger replaced by the more tender things he felt for her. _You’re the only good thing in my life, little bird. I’d fucking die for you and be happy about it. I would rip out my own beating heart and hand it to you, if you asked it of me._

He was torn – torn between waking her up and fucking her until she promised to never, ever let Joffrey touch her again or getting the fuck away from this apartment before she could open those blue eyes. If she woke up, he’d be helpless. If he had to look her in the eyes, he’d do whatever she wanted. 

Abruptly, he jumped from the bed and located his pants. His phone was in the pocket and the time read 3:38 a.m. If Joffrey hadn’t died in that fire, then he’d likely come home at some point and the last thing Sansa needed was to be caught in bed with another man. Sandor fought the urge to crawl back into bed and let the little fucker find them. Or he could wake her up and make her go with him maybe.

He stuffed his legs in his pants and then pulled his shirt over his shoulders, buttoning it up quickly. He’d kicked his shoes off with his pants, so he slid those on too. He wouldn’t wake her up, not just now. He had to get out of here and then maybe…maybe once they’d both had some sleep they could talk. But he couldn’t sleep here any longer and run the risk that Joffrey would walk in on them. 

Sandor poked his head out of the bedroom and looked around to make sure Joffrey hadn’t come in and crashed on the couch. The apartment was silent. He moved swiftly through the living room and let himself out the door. No one else was stirring at this hour, thankfully. He pressed the call button for the elevator and waited for it to ascend to the top floor. 

He grew impatient and uneasy, hairs rising on his arms as he got the indescribable impression that maybe he should have taken the stairs. He turned his head to the right side, seeing that there was a stairwell, but just as he began to turn his body in that direction, the elevator chimed to indicate that the carrier had arrived at his floor and the doors slid open.

Joffrey wasn’t standing in the elevator.

But Cersei Baratheon _was_. Alarm bells went off in his head. What was she doing here?

Even at nearly 4:00 a.m., she was dressed immaculately in a dark crimson dress suit and stiletto heels. Her golden hair was swept up neatly off her neck, secured behind her head in a tight bun. Her emerald green eyes took him in coldly, narrowing as she swept them from his head to his toes.

Sandor had always been good at keeping a calm, cool demeanor, and he did so now. Expressionless, he nodded to her and said as he stepped onto the elevator, “Ms. Baratheon.”

She didn’t get off, but instead stayed standing against the back wall of the carriage, looking straight ahead as the door closed back again. Sandor pushed the ground floor button and decidedly kept his eyes off her.

“What are you doing here?” She asked mildly.

He shrugged and answered in a bored tone, “Just seeing Ms. Stark home safely.”

“She just now arrived home?”

Sandor shook his head. “No, ma’am. I caught a nap on the couch. Bit tired from all the excitement last night. Joff get out alright?”

She was silent behind him, but he refused to turn around to try to gauge her reaction. She delicately cleared her throat, “Yes. He did. He was worried about Sansa though since she disappeared and wouldn’t answer her phone.”

The elevator chimed indicating that they had reached the ground floor and Sandor stepped off. He turned back around to give a parting nod of his head to Cersei and found she was still standing in the same spot, her green eyes narrowed and a scowl marring her pretty face.

Sandor ignored her and made his way out of the building. Once he reached his Jeep in the parking deck and was seated, he slammed his fist into the steering wheel, causing the horn to blare and echo in the garage. His head fell back against the seat as he wondered just what the hell Cersei was doing at Joffrey’s apartment. He didn’t know if she had a key. Apparently she was there for the specific purpose of confirming Sansa’s whereabouts. It was strange that she had showed up herself, rather than sending someone. Stranger still was that Joffrey wasn’t with her.

Sandor was sure that he had already lost his job. The minute he’d abandoned Joffrey in a burning building had likely cost him his employment and he couldn’t care less. Though he’d been hired as security for the club, he knew it was expected of him from Cersei that he would also keep an eye on Joffrey. Now, he’d been caught leaving Joffrey’s apartment after hours of being unaccounted for. He didn’t care about that though.

His job meant little and less to him when he thought about the fact that he may never see Sansa again. _I should have woken her up._ He had only ever seen her at the club as he didn’t make a habit of hanging around Joffrey outside work. He planned to call her later, but it wasn’t a guarantee that she would answer. He had her phone number, though he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten it. He scrolled through his phone now, stopping at her name. 

He didn’t want to wake her up, but a text message was too impersonal. _Give it until sunrise,_ he told himself. _Let her sleep for a while. She isn’t going anywhere._

But there again, he was faced with the possibility that she may not answer her phone. He tossed his down onto the passenger seat in frustration and it bounced onto the floorboard. He had never opened up to anyone, never wanted to. Now he felt like he’d bared everything to her and he was so exposed that he was working himself into an anxious state. He pushed his fingers through his hair, trying to quiet his mind, trying to turn off all the negative thoughts he was having. 

The thought of losing her after he’d had all of her for one night made his chest hurt. It was all too fucking much at one time. Love for her, fear of losing her, disgust for himself, hate for Joffrey…it was one potent combination that had him throwing open his glove compartment and reaching for the cheap whiskey contained within. 

He twisted the cap off and downed the rest of the bottle, unsure how much he was consuming but desperate to _make it all stop_. He tossed the empty bottle to the backseat and squeezed his eyes shut at the burn traveling from his throat down into his chest. But it didn’t help what he felt. It didn’t numb him the way he needed it to. Frustrated, he cranked his Jeep and backed out of the parking spot. He didn’t feel altered in any way. He needed to get home, find something stronger and drown out all this shit he was feeling.

As he pulled onto the street, his eyes darted down to his phone again. _Give it until sunrise_ , he told himself again. He already missed her, already regretted leaving her. He should’ve woken her up and demanded she come with him or he should’ve stayed there and told Joffrey to go fuck himself. _What if she didn’t want me there?_ Self-doubt was a nasty thing, and even though the logical part of his brain was screaming at him to remember the ways in which she’d responded to him, that voice in his head that told him to think the worst nagged at him.

He couldn’t leave her alone though, he knew that much. It was a struggle to continue driving when all he wanted to do was turn around and go back to her, or at the very least pick up his phone and call her. He couldn’t walk away from this, couldn’t leave it alone. If he called her later and she didn’t answer, he knew he would drive back to Joffrey’s apartment and bang on the door and demand to see her. 

A car horn startled him out of his thoughts as he realized he’d crossed slightly into the other lane. He shook his head and blinked several times. He was exhausted, and now he was a little intoxicated again thanks to the whiskey he’d downed in an attempt to calm his nerves. He wondered if he should pull over since his mind wasn’t very clear, but then he would likely be unable to resist the urge of retrieving his phone to call Sansa.

_Five more minutes and I’ll be home and maybe I can get some fucking sleep_. He doubted it though. How could he sleep when his head was so full of her? There’d be no way he could quiet his mind enough to relax and he didn’t think consuming more alcohol was a very good idea. His phone buzzing made him jerk his head down to the passenger floorboard. It was face up and he squinted to see who was calling him at nearly 4:00 a.m.

_Sansa_. He saw her picture before he saw her name on the screen, smiling back up at him. He remembered then how he’d gotten her number. She’d been fooling around with his phone, taking selfies and teasing him about all the photos of her that would be in his gallery so if one of the girls he frequently bedded got into his phone then they’d probably be jealous of her. She’d obviously added herself to his contacts.

_Need to pull over now_ , he decided. But when he looked back up, he’d completely crossed into the oncoming lane. Though there were no other cars, he panicked, swerving back to his side.

But he overcorrected and his wheels slid off the road on the other side, the wheels hitting the loose rocks.

He tried to correct again and he didn’t know how, but suddenly he had lost complete control of his Jeep. As he was tossed about on the inside of the vehicle, he realized that the car was flipping. His car was flipping on its side and he hadn’t put on his seatbelt…

His head smacked the window, the top of the car, the windshield; as his body was slung around, his knee hit the dash and he growled in pain. _When will the car stop?_ It was only after the car had flipped three times that he realized it was rolling down a steep slope into a ditch. He tried to grab the steering wheel to stabilize himself, but as the vehicle hit something at the bottom of the slope, he was thrown forward, two-hundred fifty pounds careened into his windshield and it gave way.

The last thing he remembered was flying over the front of his Jeep. He blacked out before he ever hit the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to start answering some questions, but the next chapter will answer even more...enjoy! I know some of these chapters are hard to enjoy because, ya know, HEAVY ANGST, but apparently I'm just in a depressing mood this winter and that manifested in the form of this story :-/


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor finally opens up.

Once back in her cottage, Sansa leaned against the door and let out a long, shaky breath. It was time to accept some hard truths and she steeled herself to do it. She had been holding on to feelings for Sandor for years and she was self-aware enough to realize that it was draining her, keeping her from moving on. She thought perhaps part of the reason she’d been unable to let go for so long was the lack of closure. Not knowing what had happened to him had left her mind open to all of the what-ifs associated with his disappearance. But he was sending her a pretty clear message. Whatever had happened between them in the past was best buried and Sansa needed to get a grip and move on.

It was true that Sansa had conflicting emotions when it came to Sandor. While she had a substantial amount of affection for him, she was still pretty angry with him too. And the fact that he couldn’t seem to confront the truth of why he abandoned her felt like a slap in the face. He had acted as though he hadn’t done anything wrong and that kind of behavior was inexcusable to Sansa. She had once been an overly forgiving person, but after Joffrey, she had learned her worth and there was no way she was going to gloss over the fact that he had done her wrong that night. 

She had hoped that he would give her some explanation to make her understand, or perhaps apologize for leaving her. Because while he expressed regret over the night, had called what happened between them a mistake, he hadn’t actually said the words ‘I’m sorry’. So what it all amounted to was that he regretted their intimacy, he regretted leaving her, but he wasn’t open to talking about it. And if he wasn’t open to talking about it, Sansa would be unable to forgive him.

Sansa changed into her pajamas, deciding to shower in the morning, and decided she would pass the time reading. She had just opened her Kindle app when there was a knock at her door. Frowning, she made her way to the door and looked out the peep hole before unlocking it. 

_Seven hells_ , she thought in exasperation, her eyes landing on a huge chest because the person standing outside her door was obviously quite tall. A rush of anger took hold of her and she shouted through the door, “Go away!”

She could hear a low growl come from the other side. He turned as though he was going to leave, but then turned back around. “Sansa, I have some things to say.”

She was ready to bang her head against the door. Her forehead rested against it as she debated whether or not she wanted to hear him out. She was almost certain he didn’t deserve it. “I’ll only let you in if you’re going to say the right things,” she said, a little petulantly.

She didn’t hear it, but she imagined him releasing an exasperated sigh. “How am I supposed to know what the right thing is?”

Sansa thought about it for a moment. She knew she should either tell him to get lost or let him in. Instead she said, “How about you start talking and I’ll decide whether to let you in or not?”

She could hear him release a string of curses and admittedly felt a bit of satisfaction at giving him a hard time. He’d given her a hard time for years after all. She waited to see if he would stomp off or if he would play along. Through the peep hole, she saw his chest come much closer to the door and the door made a noise that indicated he had leaned against it. It seemed as though his posture was mirroring that as Sansa’s, with his head pressed against the door.

“I haven’t been fair to you and I realize that. I should have answered your questions. Shouldn’t have been a prick about it. Old habits die hard,” he paused, likely to see if she had anything to say to that, but Sansa just waited silently. “I told you I regretted leaving you and it’s true. I’m sorry, little bird.”

“That’s not enough,” she said as she opened the door, causing him to jump back. “I don’t want to be dramatic, but I need…I don’t know, more than an apology. I need a reason, Sandor. I think we could be friends now and it seems like you kind of want that, but I just can’t do it without the truth. I don’t understand how you can deny me the truth considering your disgust for liars. You say you’re a better man and yet now you’re doing to me the one thing you never did before: you’re lying to me. Oh, you may not be outright lying,” she said as he opened his mouth to protest, “But lying by omission is still a lie.”

They stood there on either side of her threshold, watching one another. His grey eyes were unreadable, and it frustrated her to no end. _Stop hiding_. She stepped back from the entryway, allowing him a chance to come in and give her the explanations she sought. She watched his chest expand and deflate with a heavy sigh and he looked off to his left. He looked like he was going to refuse and turn around and walk away from her. Just as Sansa had decided to close the door in his face, he turned back to her and gave a nod, then stepped into her cottage, shutting the door behind him. Her eyes habitually went to his feet, seeking out Cooper, but he wasn’t there.

She looked back at his face and lifted an eyebrow in question. “Didn’t even bring backup this time. You must be serious.”

He pushed a breath out of his nose and his eyes shifted away from her again. But Sansa didn’t care how hard this was on him. She’d lived for years in a state of perpetual torture by not knowing where he was or if he was even alive. His discomfort was of little concern to her. She didn’t make a move to go sit down, not wanting to get comfortable in case she had to kick him out. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him expectantly.

“Can we sit?” He asked gruffly.

“No, I’m good,” Sansa said, surprised at how cold her voice sounded.

“Fine,” he growled back, a bit of that old anger flashing in his eyes.

_Good, be pissed. When you’re pissed, you’re more likely to tell the truth._

“First, you need to know that when I left that night, I didn’t know that it was going to be for good.”

Sansa’s brows dipped low in confusion. As much as she wanted to wait for him to keep talking, a question was on her lips. He shook his head at her, indicating that she should let him finish.

Both his hands went to his head, scraping through his long hair and pulling it back, exposing his scars. “When I left that night, or early that morning rather…I sat in that parking garage for a while, downing a leftover bottle of whiskey I kept in the glove compartment. I’d sobered up from the night before at that point, but I wasn’t ready to deal with…everything.” He wasn’t looking at her, his eyes trained on a spot somewhere over her right shoulder. “I was feeling too much, so I numbed it. It wasn’t exactly my choice to abandon you, Sansa, but it was my own stupid decisions that led me there. A block away from home, I had a wreck.”

“Oh,” The word left Sansa’s mouth in whoosh of air, but didn’t quite convey the shock she felt. One hand went to her mouth, covering it as she imagined what might have happened. He finally met her eyes and she knew without him saying that it wasn’t just a fender bender. She watched as Sandor’s jaw worked as though his teeth were grinding together. 

“A bad wreck,” he said unnecessarily.

Sansa had an urge to reach out and touch him. It was in her nature to provide comfort when someone appeared distressed, and the fact that it was Sandor who was upset made it that much harder not to reach out. She brought her hands in front of her, clasped together tightly to discourage herself from touching him. She wanted to ask _“how bad”_ , but wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it. Instead, she said, “I never knew. I had no idea.”

“You wouldn’t have. I didn’t know who I was for a while, so wouldn’t have known to ask for you,” he said quietly, bitterness coloring his tone, as if he was ashamed to admit it.

“You…didn’t know who you were?”

He was still refusing to look at her, his grey eyes dark with demons Sansa couldn’t imagine. He finally shook his head, “It took me about a week to wake up. Then it took another week before I started remembering…everything.” His eyes flickered to her face, and she knew then that “everything” meant what had happened between the two of them.

It seemed like a heavy weight had settled into Sansa’s shoulders, causing her to droop forward. She was torn between wanting to know the details of the aftermath of his accident and just letting it go because she didn’t want him to relive the trauma. Unsure of what to say, she mumbled, “I didn’t even hear about a bad wreck on the news.”

Sandor shrugged. “People are hurt in motor vehicle accidents all the time. I was an idiot. I didn’t need sympathy for something I caused on my own. Maybe the media didn’t want to cover a story of some drunken fool who wrecked his Jeep. I’m glad they didn’t.”

“So your leg…is that from the accident?”

Sandor nodded and rubbed at his leg. “I tore everything in my knee – ACL, MCL, PCL…dislocated it. Also broke my femur,” he snorted, “and _then_ I developed osteomyelitis due to the femur break.” 

“Seven hells,” Sansa murmured, unable to look away from his face. The expression he wore was bitter and angry.

“Fractured my pelvis, fractured both wrists when I threw my hands out,” he shook his head. “If I’d hurt someone else while doing that…”

 _He wouldn’t forgive himself_ , Sansa finished, reading the emotions on his face. It was odd to be able to read him when before the only emotion she was sure to read on him before was anger. “It must have been awful.”

Sandor didn’t confirm it, but went on with his story. “Months and months of physical therapy...when I was released from the hospital, I secured a referral to come here. I had some money from my parents’ deaths that I never used as well as substantial savings from working for the Lannisters, so I was able to pay for the best rehab. I wanted to get clean. Now I’ve been here for years.”

Sansa’s eyes widened, “Are you still treating here?”

He shook his head, “No, I graduated from the program in two years, but I had nowhere else to go, no desire to go back into the real world. So I was offered employment here. Like I told you before, there was nothing for me out there.”

“I was out there,” Sansa said, her voice sounding thick with emotion. “I was waiting for you. Missing you. I didn’t know if you’d died or…” Sansa stopped herself when she felt the sting of tears. Now she was the one who couldn’t look at him. 

“It took a long time before I could do anything for myself, Sansa. I was a mess. Even after I woke up, it…wasn’t pretty. You deserved better than what I could give you.”

“Then why didn’t you try to find me afterwards?” Her voice was too loud, too choked with the tears that were threatening to fall. “I…cared about you. So much. Even before that night. I should’ve left Joffrey first, I know that, but you were the one bright spot in my shit hole life and then you disappeared.”

He took a tentative step toward her, and when she didn’t flinch away, he closed the distance, gingerly wrapping her in his arms. She collapsed into him, her face pressing against his chest as hot tears coursed down her face, wetting his shirt. “I’m sorry,” he said again. He dropped his chin atop her head, and she could feel his breath stir her hair. She brought her shaking arms up and wrapped them around his waist.

She still had questions and now that he seemed willing to talk, Sansa backed away from him, moving to the bed, patting the spot beside her as she had the one other time he’d visited her cottage. He took the seat and said nothing else, likely waiting for Sansa to calm down. She turned to him, his scarred side exposed to her. Unable to stop herself, she watched as her hand drifted up, her knuckles dragging across the twisted tissue of his cheek.

“Did you feel something for me then? Did I imagine it? Was it…just lust or opportunity?”

He turned his head, his eyes softening as he looked at her face. She dropped her hand to her lap and watched as his eyes followed it. He frowned and then slowly reached for that hand, taking it in his much larger one, intwining their fingers. His eyes came back to hers and they looked clearer now.

“Yes,” he rasped. “To the first question. I felt something for you. You didn’t imagine it. It was a lot more than lust, little bird.”

The breath rushed out of Sansa, but she couldn’t stop the flow of questions now that he was opening up. “And if you hadn’t had an accident…”

Something like determination washed over his features and he said, “I would’ve come back to you. The one thing I remembered before I tried to drown myself in whiskey was how sure I was that I wasn’t going to give you up. I sat in that Jeep for a good twenty minutes and thought of a thousand different things. While I was still sober, I tried to convince myself to be happy with just a taste of you. But as it turned out, I was a selfish bastard, and within the span of minutes I’d decided I couldn’t just give you up, couldn’t be done with you. I wanted to kill Joffrey. Wanted to steal you away from him whether you wanted to go or not.”

“I would’ve gone with you,” Sansa said, giving his fingers a squeeze. “After that night, I wanted to be with you, or at least, I was open to the possibility that there was something there.”

He snorted as he stared down at their hands. “Guess this is the part where a spiritual person would say that the buggering gods had different plans. But it was shitty luck and bad timing.”

“Yeah,” Sansa said sadly, for once agreeing with his crude assessment. “Really bad timing.”

Sandor took several deep breaths before speaking again. “I don’t have any right to ask your forgiveness, but the truth is that I don’t want to drive you away. Whatever might’ve been is done, I get that. But I can’t stay away from you,” he said it almost bitterly, as though he wished he _could_ stay away. “I know you’re only here temporarily, but I don’t want to think about you being this close and pretending like you don’t exist. If you tell me now to leave you the fuck alone, I will. But I don’t want to.”

She didn’t want him to either. But much like Sandor had experienced so many emotions after the night they’d spent together, Sansa was overwhelmed with her own feelings. Her first thought was that she wanted to be friends and she liked his company. But her emotions were still tangled and confusing. When she was truly honest with herself, what she felt for him was more than friendship. She wasn’t sure if she could suffer through a friendship when her heart yearned for something much more.

She took a shaky breath, “I need some time and distance right now. I know that seems stupid and unfair, but I had already made up my mind to stay away from you when we parted ways earlier.”

Sandor nodded and swallowed hard, releasing her hand from his. Sansa instantly felt the loss and balled her hand into a fist to keep from reaching over to take his hand again. He put his hands on his knees and pushed himself up. _No, I didn’t mean leave right now. Please don’t go_. She couldn’t put a voice to the words rattling around in her head though and she sat still as she watched him walk to the door.

“Sandor,” she said quietly after he’d opened the door. He turned back, looking at her expectantly. “I’m going to be gone for a few days. I’m not running away. I’m going home for an extended weekend. I will be back. Can we talk again then?”

She watched his chest deflate as he blew out a breath, likely relieved, and then nodded. “Aye, little bird. I’ll be here when you get back. Come over here and lock your door when I leave.”

Sansa did as he said and then flipped her lamp off. She collapsed back into bed and tried to sort through what she was feeling. Sandor’s revelation had changed quite a lot about everything she believed had happened that night. While he had left her alone in that apartment, it had likely been to keep Joffrey from discovering them, though that precaution had hardly mattered because Joffrey had put the pieces together on his own.

She wanted to ask him why he’d downed that whiskey once he’d escaped to his car. Had there been some regret there that he hadn’t wanted to tell her about? What had he been feeling that made him want to drown it in whiskey? That was certainly going to be the first question she asked once she was clear-headed. 

Sandor had told her that he wanted to be with her and she couldn’t help but think where they might be today if he’d never had a wreck. It was selfish, she knew, but it was also the event that changed everything in their short-lived relationship. Regret and sadness washed over her as she thought about how alone he must have been. He had no family. He didn’t really have any friends either, except Sansa. He had gone through the hell of recovery and rehab all alone.

And she had just thrown him out of her cottage because she was overwhelmed.

She considered throwing open her door and running after him. She was disappointed in herself at having turned him away when what she really wanted to do was take him in her arms and tell him she was so sorry that he’d gone through all those trials on his own. But she had to take care of herself too and she really did need some distance to untangle her thoughts. 

Sleep was hard to come by that night. Sansa tossed and turned and had horrible dreams of shattered glass and metal scraping against pavement. She woke up with the sun and decided to pack her bags. She booked a flight to White Harbor from Saltpans for that evening after work. Then she set about texting her coworkers to swap out shifts. Thankfully, after shifting around her schedule, she was able to get five whole days off beginning the following day. She also called Arya to let her know she was coming since Arya also lived in White Harbor, and her little sister promptly cleared her schedule for the next few days. She wasn’t, however, going to be able to pick her up late at the airport as she was working late to cover a shift she would miss due to Sansa’s arrival, so Sansa ended up texting Theon with the request that he pick her up.

The next day passed quickly enough. Sansa opted to eat lunch in the breakroom again, feeling that if she saw Sandor today that she wouldn’t want to leave after the talk they’d had. At the end of her shift, she was able to catch a ferry almost immediately, and thankfully it was coming back from Maidenpool, so the next stop would be Saltpans.

She made it to the small airport in plenty of time and once she was settled in her seat, she let her mind wander back to Sandor. She knew that it should be an easy decision. Two people who got along well and enjoyed one another’s company should be friends. And now that she knew what had really happened to Sandor that night, she found it was very easy to forgive him.


	11. Chapter 11

Theon was waiting for her at the terminal and when he spotted her, he ran over and scooped her into a hug, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“It’s been a long four weeks,” he said, pulling back and grinning. 

“We’ve gone longer without seeing each other,” Sansa reminded him. Once, when she’d traveled to Dorne to work, she hadn’t been able to get enough time off to travel and Theon had been tied up with his job as well. They’d gone the whole twelve weeks without seeing one another.

“Hopefully that will never happen again,” he said, taking the handle of her carry-on from her so he could pull it.

It was incredibly late and she felt a rush of gratitude that he had agreed to pick her up rather than her having to take a cab. He tossed her bag in the back seat and joined her in the front. “Your place or mine?”

 _Oh_ , Sansa thought dejectedly. _Of course he would want to spend the night with me._ “You can take me to mine, thanks. I feel like I need to what opportunity I have to spend time there since I’m paying for it.”

Theon nodded and pulled onto the highway. “You know, you wouldn’t have to pay rent for an apartment that’s empty ninety percent of the time if we moved in together.”

“True,” Sansa said absently, hoping he caught on that she didn’t want to have this conversation right now. He was right though. It was almost ridiculous for her to pay for an apartment she hardly ever used. She’d only spent more than a few days at a time in it recently when she’d been assigned to her previous job in White Harbor. She had moved there because Theon lived there, but really, it would have been easier for her to just keep her room at Winterfell since she was gone so often.

Theon dropped the subject and focused instead about how she liked her job so far. They chatted about her typical day, what it was like living on an island, and how peaceful it was without traffic and crowds. By the time they arrived at Sansa’s apartment, she found that she’d been talking several minutes non-stop about the Isle.

“You seem to love it,” he noted.

She nodded, “It’s just different. I liked Dorne, but it’s a vacation destination. It’s always so busy and crowded. I loved the Crownlands, but it’s pretty densely populated as well. It’s just so different on the Isle. There are no streets or cars, so everyone walks to where they need to be. Some of them ride bikes or horses. It’s a completely different atmosphere than what I’m used to, but I do love it.”

They walked up to her apartment, Theon rolling her suitcase along behind him. He hesitated at the door and it occurred to her that he was unsure if he should come in. And while she should have said something, _anything_ to indicate that it was indeed okay for him to follow her inside, she just kept her mouth shut as she stepped in. He followed her after a second, parking her suitcase in front of the door. He left it open, presumably in case she wanted him to leave.

 _He’s my boyfriend and I haven’t seen him in a month. I should **want**_ _him here. We should be catching up._

Theon looked around, not meeting her eyes, and absently scratching the back of his neck. He looked uncomfortable.

“Do you want something to drink?” She asked him, heading toward her small kitchen. _Why is this so awkward? Why are we acting like this is the first time he’s been here?_

“Sure,” he said, and there was _something_ in his voice that was off. It was as though he knew something was different about her and he was picking up on her mood. “Water is fine,” he added.

She returned a moment later with a glass of water and handed it to him. He was still standing awkwardly by the open door, but he closed it after she handed him his glass. She stood there a moment, trying not to squirm as he looked at her. She cleared her throat and indicated the couch, “Have a seat.”

He sighed heavily and made his way to her couch, sitting on the edge as though he was afraid to get too comfortable. His dark eyes found hers and he gave her a knowing look.

“What?” She asked, noting that there was an edge to her voice.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” Sansa felt nervous all of a sudden and crossed her arms defensively over her middle as though to protect herself.

He tilted his head and studied her. “Sansa, you’ve been distant…”

“I’ve been home a whole hour, Theon,” Sansa protested.

“It doesn’t take long to figure out that you’re uncomfortable,” he countered. “I thought you wanted to come home. I didn’t force you. I didn’t beg you. So why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?”

Theon threw his arms up in frustration. “It’s like you don’t even want to be around me right now. I haven’t seen you in weeks, Sansa.”

“I’m just tired and you’re reading too much into it,” she snapped, then immediately felt bad for it. She _was_ being distant, even she knew that. 

Theon let out a noise of disgust and shook his head. “When I kissed your cheek earlier, you pulled away as though you couldn’t stand it. Have I done something…”

“No! You haven’t done anything, I just…” She let out a breath and closed her eyes. It was too late to deal with this right now, too late to get into a fight. “I just need rest. Can we maybe talk about this tomorrow?”

She could tell he wanted to say no, that he wanted to clear the air as soon as possible, but he gave a quick nod and stood up. He walked to her and handed her his water glass. “I’m assuming you want to be alone?”

She took the glass, her eyes dropping down to the rapidly melting ice floating around inside. She nodded her head, unable to meet his eyes. 

“Alright then,” he said, his voice sounding strange. He let himself out and Sansa went to lock the door behind him. 

She showered quickly and then put fresh sheets and blankets on her bed before crawling in. The past year, she’d always enjoyed returning home and having someone to cuddle up to in bed. She spent so much time on her own that having a warm body holding her close had been something she craved. _Was I using him?_ She hated the thought that she had been using Theon to drive away loneliness, taking advantage of a willing participant who was there whenever she needed someone. _That’s not me_ , she thought to herself, though she was doubtful. She liked Theon, always had.

But she knew she didn’t love him.

Sansa exchanged a few quick texts with Arya as they ironed out their plans for the next few days. Theon was supposed to meet her at her apartment in the morning, and then Arya and Rickon would pick them up and get on the road for Winterfell. Apparently, Rickon had fought just as hard as Arya to get off to see Sansa while she was in town and she felt guilty at having sprung a surprise visit on her siblings without much notice. She finally went to sleep sometime after midnight and was once again haunted by him in her dreams.

_“Do you know how much I want you? Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?”_

_She could feel his hot breath against her ear, the tickle of his beard against her skin._

_“There’s never been anything as sweet as you, little bird.”_

Her eyes flew open and she groaned to herself as sunlight beamed in from the curtains she’d forgotten to close last night. She threw her arm over her face. She just couldn’t escape him, no matter how far she ran.

Sansa leaned over and retrieved her phone from her night stand and saw that she had a text message from Theon waiting on her. He must have sent it as soon as he woke up.

**Theon: I’m going to let you have some time with your family. I decided to go on into work today. Call me later, if you want.**

Sansa’s heart clenched painfully. Was she hurting him? She couldn’t bear the thought that she was causing him any kind of pain. Pushing away the negative thoughts, she quickly called her mother and told her she was coming to visit and bringing Arya and Rickon along too. A few minutes later, she found herself sliding into the passenger seat of Arya’s car, Rickon stretched out in the back, earbuds tucked in as he prepared for the long drive. She noted Arya was wearing a pair too and sighed heavily at the thought that she might not have a lot of social interaction during the trip. Then again, she probably needed some time to clear her head. It was a six hour drive from White Harbor to Winterfell and she would have plenty of time to think.

They got on the road a little after nine o’clock. Sansa’s mind was occupied enough with the heavy traffic in White Harbor to keep her from thinking of Sandor too much. She gripped tightly to the armrest as Arya weaved in and out of the traffic, clearly more accustomed to driving in this mess than Sansa. Sansa visibly tensed several times as Arya cut close to the other cars, earning her a glare and roll of the eyes from her sister. But once they were outside the city limits on the long stretches of rural highway, Sansa couldn’t help letting her mind wander.

After putting some distance between herself and Sandor, and then subsequently herself and Theon, Sansa could easily admit that she had feelings for Sandor. _Of course I do_. It was laughable how obvious it was and he must have known it too. She had never been good at hiding her emotions and she was a terrible liar, so she figured he could read everything she felt for him in her eyes. The logical part of her brain screamed that she didn’t really know him now, that he was a different person than he had been when she knew him before.

 _Maybe different isn’t bad._ On the contrary, the fact that Sandor had gotten clean and found employment he loved and seemed to be less angry were all very good things. The only thing Sansa didn’t particularly care for was his apparent diminished interest in her. _Being selfish again._

 _“I felt something for you. You didn’t imagine it. It was a lot more than lust, little bird…_ _I couldn’t just give you up, couldn’t be done with you.”_

Now that she had more time to reflect on his words, she wondered if he still felt that way but hadn’t pursued it because she had been up-front about her relationship with Theon. They had already made one mistake by jumping headfirst into a physical relationship when she was still with Joffrey. Sandor probably never wanted to be in that position again. She hadn’t realized how conflicted he likely felt whenever he finally left her that night.

If the roles had been reversed, Sansa acknowledged that she would have been a mess too. If the person she had just spent the night with had been tied to someone else, she knew she’d have faced countless conflicting emotions. She didn’t blame him for never wanting to get into that situation again. And now that Sansa understood what had happened, now that she’d allowed herself to forgive him for leaving her, she wondered if maybe there could be something between them.

Sansa must not have been good at hiding her turmoil because about an hour into the drive, she felt Arya’s eyes boring into her. She turned to her, a question on her lips, but snapped her mouth shut when she saw Arya’s expression. Her sister ripped her earbuds out, threw a quick glance to the backseat where Rickon was now snoozing, and pinned her eyes to Sansa.

“You going to tell me what the hell is up with you?” Arya demanded.

 _Is she that intuitive?_ It hadn’t ever seemed that way to Sansa, but Arya seemed to know that something was going on now. She thought to brush it off and tell her she was just tired, but Arya was staring at her, eyebrows lifted expectantly.

“Eyes on the road, Arya,” Sansa muttered.

Arya rolled her eyes, glanced at the road, and then back at Sansa. “This is the same stretch of road I’ve taken a hundred times, Sansa. It doesn’t change. Stop changing the subject. What’s up with you?”

“What makes you think something is up? You know I try to come home and see you guys when I’m able,” Sansa said weakly.

“It’s not that,” Arya shrugged, glaring at the road ahead of her. “You seem off. You usually talk our ears off, but you’ve barely said anything. You bored poor Rickon to sleep. Cat got your tongue?”

Sansa chewed on her lip, unsure if she wanted to unload all her problems onto Arya. She and Arya had grown close as adults, but Sansa had never revealed the whole story about Sandor. Sansa figured that Arya would think she was crazy for being so hung up on a man she’d had a relationship with years ago. But Arya’s face was set in determination, and she knew if she didn’t start talking, then Arya would start pestering her.

Unsure where to begin exactly, Sansa began awkwardly with, “I’m not sure how I feel about Theon.”

Arya’s head whipped to the side, little lines appearing between her eyebrows as she looked on in confusion. Clearly, this was not where Arya thought this conversation was going to go. “You two having problems?”

Sansa wasn’t sure how to answer that. Were they having problems? Nothing had really changed between the two of them. Theon was still a doting boyfriend. Sansa still _liked_ him, but didn’t love him. The only thing that had changed was that Sandor had popped back up in her life. _And somehow, that’s changed everything_.

“I don’t think I’m in love with him,” Sansa said, trying to keep the focus on her current relationship for now.

Arya shrugged as if that weren’t a big deal after dating for over a year. “Well, it never seemed like you were, but you’re happy enough with him, right?”

It was a simple question, but Sansa didn’t have a simple answer for it. She had been happy before certainly, but now she was…

“But do you think it’s, I don’t know, a waste of time to keep dating someone if I’m not in love?” Sansa had a feeling that this conversation would make Arya uncomfortable very quickly.

Sure enough, Arya cringed and gave a little shudder. “Why do you have to be in love with someone to date them?”

Sansa smacked her head against the headrest in frustration, staring up at the roof of the car, unsure how to put her thoughts into words. “Arya, you know me. You know that at some point I want a husband and children. I want my happily ever after and I don’t think it’s out of the question that I could have it. So where does that leave me when I’ve been dating someone for a year, but my feelings haven’t grown at all?”

She could tell Arya was really at a loss. As far as she knew, Arya had never been in love. Arya’s longest relationship was a couple of months at the longest. Furthermore, Arya wasn’t interested in being in a relationship. Sansa got the feeling that she was probably discussing this with the wrong person.

“I don’t know what to tell you, San. Theon seems pretty crazy about you though,” she shrugged and gave her sister a helpless look. “Is he…you know, in love with you?”

“I don’t know,” Sansa answered honestly. “He’s never said that he was…”

“Well, what would you do if he did?”

 _That_ thought stirred a reaction in her. _I would want to hide, to end it, to explain that I just don’t feel that way_. Would she be justified in ending their relationship just because Theon had stronger feelings for her than she did for him? For all she knew, Theon may be okay with her feeling differently than he felt. He had always seemed just a little more dedicated to her anyway, but it had never been a problem until she found Sandor in that stable.

“Something’s changed,” Sansa said quietly, her eyes watching the road ahead of them, afraid to meet Arya’s inquiring gaze.

“What’s changed?” Arya asked, and Sansa knew that the question was coming, but she squeezed her eyes shut anyway, both wanting to unload everything to Arya but afraid to voice all of her true feelings.

“Do you remember why I left Joffrey?”

“Because he was a prick?”

Sansa huffed a laugh and nodded. “Yes, he was…that. But do you remember the straw that broke the camel’s back?”

Arya was quiet for a few seconds, seemingly trying to remember something that was thrown at her without warning that had taken place when she was still in high school. Finally, she said uncertainly, “He hit you, right? I remember that when Dad got the call he was furious and he mentioned Joffrey had slapped you. You called immediately,” Arya frowned, clearly unsure if she was remembering the events correctly. “Or did he slap you _because_ you broke up with him?”

Sansa shook her head. “No, I broke it off after he hit me. It’s ridiculous, really. I should’ve broken it off long before that. I should never have gotten involved with him, but I was too stupid to see him for what he was,” she paused and her eyes moved to Arya, who was still trying to put all the pieces together. “Do you remember why he hit me?”

Arya looked over at her then, realization dawning on her face. “He caught you with someone else?” Arya shook her head, still confused. “But what does this have to do with you and Theon? I know Theon wasn’t with you at the time.”

“Joffrey didn’t catch us,” Sansa corrected. “At least, he didn’t catch us in the act. I was an idiot. He had cameras everywhere and I had no idea. I knew that he had cameras at the entrance to our unit, but I thought that I could explain the other person being there. But Joff’s mother looked at the recording and confronted me about it. I told her that this man that I was with had taken me home after the fire. I told her I was shaken and hadn’t wanted to be left alone.” Sansa laughed bitterly as she remembered how idiotic she had felt when Cersei had confronted her while she was still in bed, the early morning sunlight warming the empty spot beside her.

_“Where were you last night, Sansa? Joffrey was worried sick.”_

_“I was here. I was pretty shaken up.”_

_“But you had someone to lean on for comfort, yes?”_

_“Clegane,” she whispered. “He stayed for a while because I was so upset.”_

Sansa had always been a terrible liar and when she saw Cersei’s cruel smile and the shake of her head, she felt her stomach drop.

_Cersei bent down at the foot of the bed, moving aside a part of the comforter that had fallen off the edge. When she stood up, she held a huge, black tee shirt in one hand, and a pair of black dress socks in the other._

Arya was seemingly waiting for Sansa to continue, but Sansa was caught in the past, reliving the morning when Sandor had walked away from her as though it were a movie playing back to her. She didn’t notice that her hands were trembling in her lap until Arya reached over and laid a small, white hand atop hers, patting the tip. “You okay, San?”

Sansa blinked several times and tried to shake off the feeling of horror she’d felt when Cersei had confronted her with Sandor’s clothes. It hadn’t taken much to convince Joffrey to check his cameras. Horrified, Sansa watched as Joffrey pulled up the feed on his laptop. He had held her hand the entire time as she had sat in bed sobbing, trying to twist her hand away from his where he had begun squeezing it cruelly. 

_“Should’ve known,” Joffrey told her, his voice eerily calm and quiet as he looked at her. “You’ve always been a bitch. Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you’d want to lay down with a dog.”_

_He swung at her then, the back of his hand connecting with her right cheek. She cried out in pain and flinched when she saw him raise his hand again._

_“Joff, don’t,” Cersei said. Her voice was calm too. “She’s not worth getting into trouble.”_

Taking a fortifying breath, Sansa whispered. “He had cameras set up all throughout the house. I had no clue. Every time that he and I were…intimate, he recorded it. So…when I cheated on him…”

“What the fuck, Sansa?! You can’t be serious!” Arya’s voice rose and then she jerked her head back to look at Rickon, who was still snoozing. She lowered her voice, all the while shaking her head. “He recorded the two of you having sex and you didn’t know? So that means…”

“Yes, he caught my indiscretion on camera. Only…I don’t think that he cared much that I had an affair. It was more _who_ I had the affair with. It was one of his employees.”

Arya closed her eyes for a moment, before remembering that she was driving. She continued to shake her head in disbelief.

Sansa continued, “It was his most trusted employee. Joffrey likely thought of him as his friend, but Sandor hated him in truth.”

“Sandor,” Arya said, testing out the name. “So that’s who you were with the night of the fire? He’s the one who got you out of the club?”

“Yes.”

“So…was it like a survival, happy-to-be-alive thing that…made you do what you did?”

“No,” Sansa said, turning her head to look fully at Arya. Her sister met her gaze with a look of confusion. “I was in love with him.”

She had never said it out loud. She had never even said it to _herself_ in those terms, but there it was. It didn’t really come to her as a surprise. She should’ve seen it years ago. All those nights she’d spent at his side, all the heated looks exchanged, all the secret smiles – whatever they had between them had been between them for _a while_. They hadn’t sought each other out for only comfort. If someone else had saved her that night, Sansa would’ve been grateful, but she wouldn’t have let that person into her bed. The trauma she had experienced that night had not driven her into the arms of just anyone. In fact, there had been very little driving her other than the fact that she _wanted_ to be with him.

“So,” Arya said, “That’s why you’re unsure about Theon? You’ve been in love before, so now you know that’s _not_ what you feel for Theon…?”

Sansa wrung her hands as they sat in her lap and she stared out her window. “It’s not just that. It’s…Sandor, the man that I had the affair with…he’s on the Quiet Isle.”

“What?” Arya’s head snapped around, mouth gaping. Her tire made an awful noise as it hit the uneven paving of the shoulder. She quickly corrected herself and turned back to the road. “Sorry,” she muttered, eyes wide. “So wait, you’re telling me that this person who came between you and Joff is staying where you’re currently assigned?”

“Yes.”

“Is he a patient?”

“No,” Sansa said quickly, not wanting Arya to get any ideas about Sansa taking advantage of someone in recovery. “I mean, he _was._ Now he’s the personal trainer…”

One of Arya’s hands came up to tangle in her hair as she tried to sort out what Sansa was telling her. “San, I’m truly not trying to be a shit here, but…you must have horrible taste in men.”

“What?”

“I mean, stay with me now, don’t give me that look! You wasted all that time on Joffrey, then found someone that you claim to have been in love with. You cheat on Joffrey with the guy, but then once you’re done with Joff the guy just…fucks off?”

Sansa squeezed the bridge of her nose, applying pressure to a quickly-forming headache. “It’s not that simple.”

“We’ve got at least another four hours,” Arya reminded her, giving her a hard look. “I want to know all the details, San. If you expect me to understand where you’re coming from, then you need to spill it all.”

And so Sansa did spill it all. She explained to Arya how Sandor _had_ disappeared, though it was through no fault of his own. She told Arya that she’d spent years in torment, wondering why he’d abandoned her. She told her about the vivid dreams and all the tears she’d shed because she had no idea why he’d left her. When Sansa got around to explaining the terrible wreck and Sandor’s extended hospital stay, understanding swept across Arya’s features.

“Whoa,” her sister said quietly. “I’m so sorry, Sansa. So did he…do you think he felt the same at the time?”

“I don’t know,” Sansa echoed the same words she’d offered earlier when Arya had asked if Theon loved her, but this time, the answer didn’t sound quite right. The memory of his hands on her, the words he’d whispered, the way he’d looked at her…she didn’t know if she could explain it to Arya. She knew people lied plenty in order to get someone in bed, but Sansa knew that’s not what Sandor had done. He was reserved and honest and if anything, he may have been _holding back_ what he was truly feeling.

The conversation would have likely gone further had Rickon not began to stir. He sat up, auburn hair sticking up all over his head and stuck his head between the front seats.

“Sisters,” he announced groggily. “I need to take a piss.”

Sansa laughed quietly as Arya grumbled about having to stop at a service station.

“You can pull over and I can whip it out roadside,” Rickon offered.

“You aren’t whipping anything out roadside, you wilding!” Arya screeched. “You can wait the ten minutes it’s going to take us to get to the service station.”

Thankful for a reprieve from her heavy thoughts, Sansa reached over and plucked Arya’s earbuds out of the cup holder she’d tossed them in and stuck them in her ears, drowning out the sounds of her bickering siblings.


	12. Chapter 12

Sansa’s stay at Winterfell passed quickly. She and Catelyn spent their days shopping in Wintertown, visiting all their favorite little shops. Arya and Rickon grudgingly came along since time with Sansa was always limited. Sansa helped Catelyn with her latest scrapbooking project – one which involved documenting Bran’s achievements in high school. 

Robb and Jon came over for dinner on the third night and as they all sat around the table, Catelyn lamented that Bran was the only one missing. He was studying in Old Town and couldn’t justify leaving his studies for a few days in the middle of the term.

“Rickon has no such qualms about it,” Arya said, smirking at their youngest brother.

Rickon shrugged. “I’ll get notes from someone. Didn’t have any tests and the professors rarely take attendance.”

Robb looked at Sansa with a slight frown. “Where’s Theon? Last I heard he was coming up with you. Was there some last minute crisis at the office?”

Sansa’s cheeks heated and she ducked her head, toying with her food. “Something like that.”

“When are the two of you going to make it official?” Robb wiggled his eyebrows.

“I thought the idea of your best mate and your little sister made you uncomfortable,” Arya cut in, giving Sansa time to come down from the anxiety Robb was unwittingly causing.

Robb shrugged, “It’s been a year. I guess I’ve gotten used to it.”

Catelyn nodded along and addressed Sansa, “This is the longest relationship you’ve had since Joffrey. It must be serious.”

“Comparing it to Joffrey does not make it sound appealing,” Arya interjected again.

Catelyn gave her a look of mild irritation. “I only meant that after Joffrey, Sansa seemed too discouraged to commit to anyone. But now…well…” Her mother’s eyes sought her out, softening when she noticed that Sansa was blushing. “I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to make you the topic of conversation. I’ll stop.”

“Robb started it,” Arya said, poking her tongue out at her oldest brother like they were all kids again.

Catelyn took the bait, and looking a little devilish, turned her blue eyes on her oldest. “Yes, speaking of Robb, where’s that lady of yours? It’s not fair of you to harass Sansa when you’re thirty years old and in the same position.”

Sansa couldn’t hold back a snicker as she chanced a glance at Robb, whose face was almost as red as his hair. _Crisis averted_ , she thought as all eyes were now on her oldest brother.

“Where is Jeyne this evening?” Ned spoke up. “You normally bring her along to family dinners.”

“She had to work. Why are we talking about me? Sansa is the one that’s never home. The focus should be on her!” Then, as though desperately trying to find _anyone_ else who might take the attention off of him, he turned to Jon. “And besides that, Jon has a girlfriend!”

Jon froze mid-chew, grey eyes shifting to his adopted brother and narrowing. Robb smiled as innocently as he could under Jon’s scrutiny and Arya leaned forward on the table, chin propped on her elbows, waiting for all the details.

“I’ve met her,” Ned supplied. “Nice girl.”

Catelyn nodded along, “Much more talkative than Jon, but I suppose opposites attract.”

Robb’s mouth dropped open and he looked between his parents and Jon, clearly wondering what he’d missed.

“You aren’t always the first to know,” Jon said, taking his own turn to look innocent. “Mom and Dad met her last week.”

Sansa giggled at Robb’s dejected expression, clearly upset that he hadn’t spoiled Jon’s secret like he thought, though it was clear Arya and Rickon hadn’t heard about it.

Rickon gave Jon an appraising look. “She hot?”

“Seven’s sake,” Catelyn muttered.

“Rickon, don’t be gross,” Arya admonished.

“Val is lovely,” Ned said.

Jon returned Rickon’s look and with a slight smile said, “What’s it matter? You couldn’t handle her.”

There was a chorus of ‘Ooohhs’ at the table that had poor Catelyn dropping her face into her hands and shaking her head.

The rest of the meal was spent trying to wring details out of Jon about his relationship with his girlfriend and thankfully diverted attention away from Sansa’s love life, though she had a feeling she wasn’t quite off the hook by the way her mother kept glancing at her questioningly. She supposed that the tension she felt was written all over her face.

Later on, her mother found her in the library, a book opened in her lap as she stared into space. Catelyn stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, giving her oldest daughter a concerned look.

“What?” Sansa asked as innocently as she could.

“When is the last time you read an actual, physical book and not something on your Kindle?” Catelyn asked, stepping into the room.

Sansa shrugged and looked down at the book in her lap. It was a collection of old fairy tales. She’d thought to relive some of the innocence of her childhood, but her mind was stuck on her current, very adult situation. 

“I’m not actually reading it,” she said needlessly.

Catelyn just nodded as she sat down in the chair nearest the couch. “You seem distracted, darling. You want to talk about it?”

Sansa _did_ want to talk about it. Catelyn had always been able to make Sansa open up anyway, and the fact that Sansa was already itching to spill her guts on her situation made the feeling that much more intense. She slammed the book closed and sat up, fixing her mother with a serious look.

“Oh,” Catelyn said, clearly a little startled with the intensity of Sansa’s stare. “That bad, huh?”

“I think I’m in love,” Sansa blurted. That was _not_ what she had intended to say at all, so whatever she’d planned to follow with after that statement was momentarily lost. 

Catelyn just nodded along, a small smile on her lips. “Okay,” she said calmly. Her brows lifted as the small smile turned into a grin. She clearly was waiting for Sansa to elaborate.

“It’s not Theon,” Sansa whispered. When she glanced back to Catelyn, her mother’s expression was frozen on her face, the smile now looking unnatural.

“What?” Catelyn said, finally snapping out of her shock.

“Mom, I think…I think I need to break up with Theon.”

Catelyn sat up straighter in her chair and pressed a hand to her heart. “Sansa, please don’t tell me you’ve been unfaithful to Theon. I overlooked it with Joffrey, naturally, because of the situation you were in, but this…”

“I haven’t cheated on him, Mother,” Sansa said, more than a little annoyed that her mother had jumped to that conclusion; although, if Sansa were being honest, her mind would likely have went there too if someone confessed that they were in love with someone _other_ than the man they’d been dating a year. Still, it…stung.

Catelyn didn’t bother to hide her confusion. Sansa couldn’t blame her for that either. Her story was a wild one and she wasn’t even sure where to start. As the time stretched on, neither of them speaking, Sansa tried to piece together what she needed to say.

“Have you met someone then?” Catelyn asked, clearly unable to hide her curiosity for another minute.

Sansa took a fortifying breath and met Catelyn’s eyes. “You could say that. I swear I haven’t done anything…improper with him. It’s just that…I know how I feel and I’m not interested in trying to fight it or ignore it.”

“So what you’re trying to tell me is that you’re in love with a man that you just met and even though you’ve never been in a relationship with him, you know you want to be?” Catelyn paused. “That seems a little extreme, especially for you.”

“I didn’t just meet him,” Sansa said, “though the rest is true enough. I have no idea what it’s like to be in a relationship with him.”

Catelyn placed a hand on her forehead, as though Sansa’s revelation had given her a headache. Sansa almost felt sorry for springing all of this onto her, but she _had_ asked, and really, Sansa was tired of bottling her feelings and acting like everything was okay. When Catelyn said nothing, Sansa continued, “Mom, he’s the man that I…he’s the person I had an affair with right before I left Joff.”

Her mother’s mouth fell open and her Tully blue eyes looked as though they may pop from her sockets. The hand on her chest was now clutching the fabric of her blouse and her breathing had changed. Still, Sansa didn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed. It was past time for her to tell everyone how she really felt.

“Sansa, you never even mentioned him when you came back. You never even told us his _name_. We only found out what had happened because Joffrey was running his mouth to everyone. I thought it was a dirty lie until you confirmed it, but even then…” Catelyn’s face changed then, taking on a stern look as she scooted to the edge of her seat. “Sansa, what are you trying to tell me here? That the two of you found one another again and suddenly decided there’s something between you? Or are you trying to say there’s been something all along? It’s been _years_. I don’t understand. Why have you never brought him up? Why have you never spoken of him before?”

“It’s complicated,” Sansa admitted, wincing at the cliché excuse. “He…disappeared for a while after Joff and I broke up. I didn’t know where he was or how to get in touch with him…”

Catelyn cut in, seizing on the first sentence. “He _disappeared_? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I thought…I didn’t…” Sansa took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself before continuing, anxiety forming a knot in her belly. “I thought that he abandoned me at first, but that’s not really the case. I don’t know how much you know or what Joffrey told everyone. I couldn’t keep all the stories straight myself, but the truth is that he and I were only together once. It happened the night of that fire.”

Catelyn shuddered and Sansa remembered how disturbed her mother had been when she’d finally found out that Sansa had been in that burning building. Catelyn had been a wreck for weeks, worrying herself over what _could’ve_ happened to Sansa, even after she was safely moved to White Harbor, far away from Joffrey and the events of that night.

Sansa continued, “He got me out of there that night. He took me home and…” She released a humorless laugh, another cliché finding its way off her tongue. “One thing led to another…”

Her mother studied her, her eyes sweeping over Sansa’s face as though looking for a lie. “Sansa, is it possible that you just were – I don’t know – showing gratitude?” The look she gave her mother caused Catelyn to look away and hurriedly apologize. “I’m sorry, Sansa. I’m just trying to understand. How would it sound to you though? You’re telling me that the night that club burned down, a man rescued you, you then slept with that man, and all these years later, you’re in love with him.”

When looking at it from that perspective, Sansa could see all the holes in the story. She took a moment to clear her head and arranged her next words so that it would make more sense. “His name is Sandor. He worked for Joffrey so I knew him way before that night. In fact, I’m fairly certain I was in love with him before that night,” Sansa paused for a moment, trying to remember the tangle of emotions she’d felt leading up to what happened between them. They hadn’t started out liking each other, hadn’t even started out friendly, but somewhere along the way Sandor became the person she was closest to. “I should have left Joffrey as soon as I realized there was something between Sandor and I,” she smiled ruefully. “Actually, I should have never been with Joff to begin with. He was bad for me. But if I hadn’t dated him, I never would have met Sandor.”

Catelyn was quiet as she listened, watching Sansa with a frown. She didn’t look upset or disappointed, just very confused. Sansa knew her mother had questions and she was willing to answer them the best she could.

“Why did you never mention him?” Catelyn was genuinely interested, Sansa could tell, and she was relieved that her mother didn’t appear to be judging her for the things she’d just told her.

“I was hurting,” Sansa told her honestly. “I thought he’d left me. He _did_ leave me. I didn’t want to look like a fool, though I certainly felt like one. Turns out, he never would have left of his own volition.” Sansa’s eyes met Catelyn’s and she could see the questions reflected back in those Tully blues. _Why did he leave you? Why do you still love someone who abandoned you? Where did he go? How can you trust him?_ Sensing that the topic was painful for Sansa, Catelyn reached over and took one of her hands, but said nothing as she waited for Sansa to continue.

“That morning after he left, he wrecked on the way to his house. Apparently it was a very bad wreck. He said he was out for a while. He had numerous broken bones. He had memory loss,” her eyes drifted back up to her mother’s and she saw understanding dawn.

“He was unable to come back for you?” Catelyn guessed, still searching Sansa’s face as though she’d find the missing puzzle pieces in her expressions.

“He was in bad shape,” Sansa confirmed, then added, “For a very long time. And I think that after having endured all that, after all the rehabilitation…” What Sansa left unsaid was that it was not only physical rehabilitation, but alcohol rehabilitation too. She didn’t want to spring too much on her mother at one time. Wetting her lips nervously, she continued, “I think that he felt that he wouldn’t be able to find me, or that it had been too long. He said it took a couple of years for a full recovery,” Sansa trailed off with a frown as she said it, because something, _something_ now niggled at the back of her mind. The words _full recovery_ left her with a strange feeling, as though, even now after all these years, he might not be _fully recovered_. She couldn’t understand the feeling, but a voice in her head told her that she was missing _something_ and it had to do with his recovery.

Catelyn was quiet, soft eyes studying her daughter in what looked a lot like sympathy. Sansa wasn’t sure what to expect from Catelyn. She hadn’t exactly come to her mother for advice, but she was still interested in whatever input she could offer. She was desperate to know what she thought. Did Catelyn think she was crazy for suddenly declaring love for someone she had never actually dated? It seemed absurd even to Sansa, but she knew what she was feeling.

Catelyn gently cleared her throat, her hand tightening on Sansa’s. “I appreciate you wanting to talk it out with me, darling, but it seems like you already know what you want to do.” Her eyebrows lifted knowingly and a ghost of a smile touched her lips. “You can’t date someone if you’re in love with someone else. It isn’t fair. And even if things don’t turn out the way you want with…” She paused for a moment, looking thoughtful as she tried to remember Sandor’s name, “…Sandor, don’t you think it’s unfair for both you and Theon to pretend like there isn’t someone in the way?”

At her mother’s words, Sansa felt tension leave her body. Catelyn had explained everything she had been feeling about the situation so easily and in such a way that Sansa hadn’t quite been able to voice. She nodded her head in agreement. “Yes,” she said, her voice a little hoarse as she struggled to contain her emotions. “I don’t think I should date _anyone_ while I’m in love with someone else, except of course the person I’m in love with…” She laughed nervously, her eyes breaking away from Catelyn’s face to stare down at their clasped hands. “He has no idea that I’m about to do this. I didn’t tell him that I was coming home to break up with my boyfriend for him, though I think maybe that was my intention all along. Even before I knew it.”

“Does he…does he feel the same for you?” Catelyn asked suddenly, as though it had just now occurred to her that he might not.

“I don’t know,” Sansa answered honestly. “I think maybe he did at one time, but he’s been a little…distant since I found him again. But I think part of that is because he _knows_ I have a boyfriend. I think he’s worried about making any kind of move after what happened last time.”

“I see,” Catelyn said. Then, “Sansa, look at me.” Her voice was soft, but stern, and Sansa’s eyes snapped to her mother’s face immediately, her eyebrows knitting at the tone Catelyn used. Catelyn squeezed her hand again in reassurance. “You deserve to be happy, baby. I know that you’re going to feel bad for hurting Theon, but the fact is, one of you will be hurt regardless. If you keep up this charade, you’re going to hurt yourself and Theon too, in the long run. Make it a clean break and then…” Catelyn shrugged, giving her a small smile. “Go after what you want. This Sandor would have to be an idiot not to see what a catch you are.”

Sansa giggled and ducked her head to hide the blush on her cheeks. “Thanks, Mom.”

~*~*~*~

The next day, Arya, Rickon, and Sansa left early for White Harbor. Arya had been called back to work early and Sansa needed to speak with Theon. Her flight back to Saltpans was scheduled for early the next day, so she would arrive in plenty of time to rest before going back to work. They arrived back in White Harbor a little after lunch, and Sansa immediately passed out in her bed to take a nap.

When she woke up, it was around four o’clock. She dragged her phone from beneath the pillow she’d shoved it under and typed out a quick message to Theon, telling him she was back in town and wanted to speak with him if he was available that evening. She was careful to avoid sounding too sweet or flirty. She knew he was picking up on the fact that something was off with her. His reply was short, stating that he’d be at her place around six.

Sansa ate an early supper, then jumped in the shower, closing her eyes beneath the pelting, hot water, trying to steel herself for what she needed to do. She tried to run through a rehearsal of the things she needed to say in her head as she massaged shampoo into her hair, but instead, thoughts of Sandor kept invading her brain.

What would happen when she saw him again? Would she immediately tell him that she had broken things off with Theon to explore what she felt for him? Would he even be interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with her now? Fear tugged at her heart as the realization that he may have very well gotten over her in the all the years that had stretched between now and the last time they’d been together. 

_It doesn’t matter_ , she reminded herself. Even if Sandor didn’t feel the same, she couldn’t go on like this, couldn’t pretend that she was happy with Theon when she couldn’t keep her mind off Sandor. At least if Sandor didn’t feel the same way, Sansa could long for him without feeling like she was being unfair to Theon. She felt selfish, knowing that her own guilt was driving this decision in part. But Theon deserved the full attention and love of someone, not whatever leftovers she could offer him when her heart’s desire lay elsewhere.

Sansa dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and yoga pants, her still-wet hair combed out and hanging down her back. When Theon arrived, still dressed for work, he took in her attire and gave her a questioning look.

“I thought you might want to go out, grab something to eat,” he sighed, frustration clear on his face.

Sansa stepped back to let him in and waved to the couch, explaining, “I’ve already eaten.”

Theon sat, his hands resting on his knees, looking very stiff. He kept trying to catch her eyes, likely trying to see if he could get a read on what was going on in her head, but like a coward, Sansa avoided his eyes. She went to the couch, sitting far enough from him that she felt her body language indicated this was not going to be a pleasant conversation.

Her hands twisted nervously in her lap as she tried to think of what she needed to say. She’d known that this would be difficult, but the thought of inflicting pain on someone unnerved her somewhat. Theon’s heavy sigh finally made her look over at him. He was staring at some random spot on her coffee table, but when he saw her look at him, he turned to her fully.

“This isn’t going to be good, is it?” He sounded somewhat resigned, but also cautious, as though he were expecting something unpleasant, but hoping he was wrong.

Sansa turned her body toward him and cleared her throat. Every time she tried to meet his eyes, she chickened out and looked elsewhere. Her interlocked hands were sweaty and she could practically feel her heart hammering against her ribs. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep, fortifying breath. When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her intently, his throat moved as he swallowed and he looked a bit pale.

Fleetingly, Sansa thought that she might blame it on her work. She could say _my job keeps me away so often and the stress of trying to keep up a relationship is too much_. It would’ve been a valid reason and likely less awkward. Her career choice had been a sore point for them in the past after all and it would’ve been completely believable.

But no, she wouldn’t do that. She could. She was a bad liar, but there was enough truth in that tale that Theon would likely believe her. But she wouldn’t do it because Sandor hated liars and Theon deserved the truth. He may hate her and she would likely deserve it, but at least there would be no deception on her part if she told him what was really going on.

“I think that we should end things.” It came out roughly, her voice sounding as though she hadn’t used it in a while. She said nothing else immediately afterward and the tension settled in the room. She had been looking at his knee when she said it, but after a few seconds, she raised her eyes to his face.

Shock, confusion, anger, hurt, and then…something like understanding all passed over his face. Hands still on his knees, Sansa watched as his fingers curled into the material of his pants, nails digging into the material.

“Are you serious?” He didn’t say with any sarcasm or incredulity. His tone was serious, even if his voice seemed to waver a bit at the end.

Sansa just nodded. Her instincts screamed at her to reach out and offer comfort, to lay a hand atop his, or rub his shoulder, but she didn’t want to send the wrong message. She bit her lip, wondering if there was something she could do to lessen the blow.

“Why? Is it your job?”

He was practically giving her an out. She could just nod again and he would accept it. She was away too much and it _was_ difficult for him to date someone that was constantly on the move. He would probably believe that it was difficult for her as well. Maybe lying about the reasons would spare him some pain. 

“It’s not my job,” she told him, meeting his eyes. “I’ve never had a problem balancing our relationship and work. I probably should have realized how strange that was before now. Do you…do you remember when I told you that there was someone who helped get me through those last few months with Joffrey?”

Theon stiffened, sitting up straight as he stared at her. He knew where this was going apparently because his eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened.

Sansa surged ahead, too deep now to turn back or divert attention onto another topic. “His name is Sandor Clegane. I hadn’t seen him in years. Turns out, he’s been on the Quiet Isle the whole time,” she released a humorless chuckle and shook her head. “I thought he’d abandoned me,” she said quietly.

“What are you trying to say, Sansa? Are you saying there’s someone else? Is that where this is going?”

Sansa closed her eyes again, noticing that a headache was starting. Her temples were throbbing and a steady beat seemed to thump against the center of her forehead. Trying to calm herself, she breathed in through her nose, then exhaled slowly and reopened her eyes. 

It did little good. The look on Theon’s face was like a punch to the gut. He knew. _He knew._

“Yes,” she answered finally. “I haven’t…I haven’t been unfaithful…” She stopped and realized that she was lying again. She hadn’t been physically unfaithful, it was true; but that fact seemed to matter little when she realized that her heart was in someone else’s hands and had been the whole time, way before she’d ventured to the Quiet Isle. “I haven’t done anything with him _physically_.”

Theon squinted his eyes at her, clearly a little confused at her choice of words. “So…what? You’re breaking up with me to go be with him?”

“Not-not exactly,” Sansa stammered, feeling heat rise into her cheeks. “I just don’t think it’s fair to either of us to continue to see one another when I have some unresolved feelings for someone else.” She was worried that Theon may ask the same questions that her mother had, worried that she would have to attempt to explain why she was still hung up on someone after so many years apart. But Theon didn’t seem all that interested in her reasoning.

“I can’t believe this,” he said, and even if there was a little anger, she could tell that he was more hurt than anything else. “Have I not been good to you? Sansa, I’ve never been this serious about _anyone_. Ever. What did I do wrong? Is it something I can fix?”

She felt the hot sting of tears and blinked rapidly. “It’s not…it’s not you, Theon…”

He laughed without humor and shook his head. “So now you’re going to pull the ‘ _it’s not you, it’s me’_ bit then?”

Sansa chewed nervously at her lip, knowing that she must sound like she was full of shit by telling him that. “You haven’t done anything wrong,” she insisted. “It’s just a terrible situation. I wish that I could have prevented things from transpiring as they have, but all this arose from a quite unique set of circumstances…”

“Gods, San, do you realize how you sound right now?” Theon dropped his head into his hands, his fingers skimming through his dark hair, pulling lightly at the strands.

Sansa said nothing. He was hurt and she had caused it. She deserved any acidic words he may have for her at this time. She almost wanted him to tell her how horrible she was because honestly, she felt horrible. But when Theon finally looked back up at her, the anger seemed to have abruptly drained out of him. He looked tired and hurt.

“I know the answer already, but…there’s nothing I can do? I can’t dissuade you from this decision? Because when I say this, I mean it – I’ll not be waiting around for you if things with him go sour. I’ll not be someone you can turn to when you’re feeling lonely.”

“I know,” Sansa told him earnestly. “I would never expect that of you. I hate that it’s come to this, but…”

Theon held up his hand and she immediately stopped speaking, her eyes searching his face for any hints as to what may come next. He stood up and looked around, seeming a bit disoriented. “I’m just…I’ll just go, okay? I’m assuming you can find your own way to the airport tomorrow?”

Sansa’s gut clenched at the question because she knew that if she asked him for a ride there that he would oblige. That’s just how he was. She cleared her throat and answered, “I’ve got it covered.”

Theon gave a terse nod and turned toward the door. When his hand landed on it, Sansa called out to him. His dark eyes landed on her, giving her a cautious look. “I really am sorry,” she said sincerely, though she doubted he cared to hear it.

He gave one more nod and then slipped through the door, closing it softly behind him.

~*~*~*~

Sansa arrived back on the Isle around lunch time the following day. She thought about immediately seeking out Sandor, but traveling always made her tired, so she ended up sleeping away much of the afternoon. She went to the gym that evening, secretly hoping she would run into Sandor, but he was nowhere to be found. She even thought of trying to find out which cottage he inhabited, but decided that was a little too desperate.

She fell asleep easier that night that what she’d anticipated. She dreamed about Sandor again and though the dream was much the same as all the others – him hovering over her, the feel of his lips on her skin, the scratch of his beard – she woke up absence the feeling of longing. After all, he was here with her now.

Sansa’s morning passed quickly and, though she wanted to see Sandor, much of the anxiety had leaked away. He wasn’t going anywhere and now she was free to feel things for him without a cloud of guilt hanging over her.

Sansa arrived a few minutes later than normal to lunch in the dining hall. She ordered her food and once she’d collected her meal, she let her eyes do a sweep of the dining hall. He was sitting near the windows with Dr. Elder, who looked as though he was finishing his meal whereas Sandor seemed to just be getting started. The doctor was standing and collecting his trash when Sansa walked up. Her eyes feel to Cooper, sitting dutifully at Sandor’s feet. She spoke to him softly, but raised her eyes when she felt Sandor’s gaze on her.

Dr. Elder offered her his seat and said something, but Sansa was so tuned into Sandor at the moment, she had no idea what the doctor had said. She slid into the seat across from him. He looked at her warily, sitting back in his seat a little, and crossing his arms over his chest. It was as though he was immediately trying to put up a wall to protect himself.

_No need for those. Not anymore._

“How did your trip go?” He rasped, still looking at her, unblinking.

“It was okay,” she shrugged. It had had its high and low moments. She was glad to spend time with her family, but she hated that she’d hurt Theon. She didn’t want to get into all that just now though. She was too busy looking at Sandor.

She just couldn’t take her eyes off of him and he seemed to be suffering from the same affliction. Had anyone been paying attention to them, they might have thought they were caught up in a staring contest. It didn’t make her uncomfortable though and she wondered if he had missed her as much as she had missed him. She hadn’t even realized how much she liked looking at him until she was sitting across from him, taking in the silver-grey of his eyes, the heavy brow, the long, dark hair, and of course, the scar. 

She found that she loved every bit of it, every perfect feature.

 _I’m in deep and I haven’t even told him I’m single now_.

Sansa would’ve laughed at herself, but Sandor’s expression turned a little expectant, as though he was waiting for her to say something specific. She lifted an eyebrow, silently asking him _‘what’_? He smirked at her and shook his head.

“Have you decided to forgive me then?”

A bubble of laughter escaped and she slapped a hand over her mouth, knowing that he was being serious and that her reaction was wildly inappropriate. But it was almost comical – Sandor had likely been worried the whole time she’d been gone that he pissed her off to the point that she was done when in reality, Sansa had forgiven him before she’d ever left.

“Yes,” she answered, smiling at him. “I’ve forgiven you. I still have questions, but I’m not going to ruin your lunch with an interrogation.”

He snorted, “Thanks for that. Very considerate of you.”

She found herself biting her lip as she fought another smile. Poor man probably couldn’t understand why she was suddenly grinning at him like an idiot. But Sansa wasn’t quite ready to tell him all that, so she just schooled her features and told him seriously, “I missed you.”

He huffed another small laugh and looked away for a moment. But when he looked back, he was fighting his own smile. “Missed you too, little bird.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Sandor POV!
> 
> Because doing so much of this story without his input is HARD. It was originally supposed to be entirely in Sansa's, but...apparently I'm incapable of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter count may change. I'm not done editing, so please don't be mad if the number increases or decreases. I'm not sure how I want to split them up just yet!

Sandor resolved to give Sansa the space she had asked for. As much as he wanted to seek her out, he reminded himself that she had asked for time and distance. She would find him when she was ready. Putting his trust in her to forgive him made him uneasy, but it was the least he could do considering he hadn’t been completely honest with her about what had happened to him.

He hadn’t known exactly how long she would be gone, which only caused him further uneasiness. He took all his meals in the dining hall the whole time she was away, hoping that when she came back that she would find him there. 

As it turned out, his plan worked perfectly because the dining hall was exactly where she found him. He didn’t know how long she’d been back, but she had clearly been at work already since she was donning her scrubs. He wanted to tell her how happy he was to see her, but that seemed a little too eager. 

As they enjoyed their lunch and one another’s company, he found himself unable to stop grinning at her. It must have been a terrible sight for her, his scars all stretched grotesquely, pulling awkwardly as his muscles shifted, but he couldn’t quite stop himself. Sansa just had that effect on him.

But she was smiling a lot too. She seemed genuinely happy to see him and the thought caused warmth to spread through his chest. Fuck, but she made him happy. He was fairly certain he had never actually been happy when he knew her before, despite the fact that they spent a good deal of time together. The fact that Sansa had been with Joffrey and Sandor had been a raging alcoholic seemed to have a lot to do with his misery back then. Even though Sansa had brightened his nights when she chose to spend her time at the club with him rather than Joffrey, he admitted that he hadn’t been exactly _happy_. Hells, he hadn’t been happy for the vast majority of his life. He had found a measure of it after he’d gotten sober and defeated all his demons. But Sansa seemed to build on the contentment that he’d managed to obtain. Just seeing her made him feel lighter, made the tension in his body release so that he could relax.

Sansa had informed him that she expected a running lunch date from now on, which made him laugh. Then she had apologized quickly for being presumptuous and told him that she was joking and not to feel any pressure. He’d already made up his mind that he was going to take her up on that offer.

That night, Sandor had two appointments for training. It had been a busy day. He’d spent the morning tied up with three people who had needed a personal trainer. After lunch he’d gone to tend to the horses, lost track of time, and had to rush back for his two evening appointments. In short, he smelled like some strange combination of outdoors, horses, and sweat.

So of course Sansa would show up in the gym that night and prove to be a great distraction. Thankfully, she didn’t appear until he was halfway done with his second appointment. He struggled to keep his eyes off her as she trained with resistance bands in front of the mirror. She was wearing those tight exercise leggings that women seemed to live in nowadays and an equally tight tank top that was cropped to show off some of the skin of her stomach.

Sandor found that, where Sansa was concerned, he was no different than any other horny idiot, and it annoyed him to no end. He had no trouble admiring female beauty and didn’t see the harm in it, but he had never allowed it to make him stupid until she’d appeared in his life. But that was Sansa. His reaction to her had always been different than it had to any other woman. While Sandor had always appreciated Sansa’s physical beauty, he suspected it was Sansa’s inner beauty that made her irresistible. It seemed that her inner beauty caused his resistance to the outer beauty to weaken in such a way that the result was him standing still, hands on hips, supposedly spotting his trainee, while his eyes roamed over Sansa’s body.

“One more set,” Sandor told his trainee absent-mindedly, his thoughts so full of her that he was helpless to do much but watch her.

She had pulled her hair back into a ponytail, exposing her long, white neck. His lips had touched that neck. He remembered it as though it had happened hours ago rather than years ago. He needed to figure out how to be around her without having a constant boner. It would be hard to be friends with her if he constantly thought about all of the things he wanted to do to her.

Finally, _finally_ , his last session of the day ended and he nodded along, somewhat impatiently, as the trainee set up his next appointment. He whistled to Cooper, who was sitting in the corner dutifully, and the dog followed him as he made his way across the gym to Sansa. 

She peeked at him through the mirror, aware of his presence this time, thankfully. She’d nearly broken his toe the last time he’d come up on her in the gym. 

“Here to critique my form again, Sandor?” She asked, lifting an eyebrow as she studied his reflection in the mirror.

His eyes roamed said form and he shook his head. “Nope. I’m just observing.” He meant it as a joke, of course, no matter how difficult it was to take his eyes off her, but as he looked back up to catch her eyes in the mirror, he saw her bite into her bottom lip.

_Oh, fuck_.

He couldn’t be imagining it. It wasn’t just the lip bite, but the look she gave him that accompanied it – lids a little heavy, eyes a little glazed. He’d always been good at reading people and if he wasn’t misinterpreting, then there was some troubling sexual tension between the two of them. He shook his head a little in an attempt to clear it and broke eye contact with her. 

_She has a boyfriend_ , he reminded himself. He thought he could trust himself not to make any moves on her, weak as she made him, but one thing he was powerless against was the visions that popped randomly into his head. It had been happening again ever since she’d turned up on his little island. He’d fantasized about her before, sure, but now that she was here, he was assaulted with visions of her throughout the day, usually at the most inappropriate times.

Like right now.

All Sandor wanted to do was press her up against the mirrors, pull those tight leggings down her long legs and fuck her from behind. It was strange to him that Sansa could inspire just as much lust in him as she could…love, or whatever it was he felt for her now. Back when they knew one another before, he had known that he was in love with her. It hadn’t just been the fact that she was his only true friend or that he was lonely or that he was more susceptible to her charms that had caused those feelings back then. Looking back now with a sober mind, he was surer than ever of how he felt. But labeling his current feelings…

_That path leads to madness._ Sandor didn’t want to examine his feelings too closely right now. It was hard enough to keep from wondering what might have happened had he never wrecked after leaving her. But he couldn’t let himself think about what might have been. It would kill him. So for now, any time he found himself trying to examine what he felt for her, he pushed those feelings firmly away. He had cleared the air with her for the most part and he wasn’t interested in complicating things between them by exploring what it was he felt for her. As his eyes raked over her again, he gave himself one concession. 

_Lust,_ he thought. _I can handle lust. Just nothing more._

Sandor decided to join her since he hadn’t worked out that day, and for the next hour he watched her while she watched him, though neither mentioned it. He caught her looking at his arms, his legs, his chest, even his butt one time. Every time he caught her, she would blush appropriately. Every time she caught him looking, he would smirk unapologetically.

After an hour of working out, Sandor, Sansa, and Cooper emerged from the gym, the breeze coming off the bay cooling the sweat on their skin.

“You should’ve brought a jacket,” Sandor told her.

“I can handle a little breeze,” she told him, slowing her pace to give Cooper a scratch on the head, which Sandor seemed fine with now. “I know it’s probably just because Cooper is used to me now, but I cannot imagine him ever being aggressive.”

“He’s not,” Sandor said automatically, and then bit into his tongue. _This is why I don’t lie_.

She stood up straight, stopped in her path, and gave him a curious look. “Oh, I just thought…because you don’t really want people petting him…you told that boy he might bite him…” She looked perplexed and opened her mouth, probably to question him more, but then just shook her head and shrugged. “I guess you never know how they will react to strangers.”

“Yeah, just playing it safe,” he mumbled.

_I am a lying asshole and a coward,_ he thought angrily. He could feel his good mood slipping as they walked along the path back to her cottage. If he didn’t tell her the rest of the story and she somehow found out on her own, she would be angry again. She may not trust him. Somehow the aftermath of his wreck had made him a better man in many ways and a worse one in others. He never would have lied to anyone or omitted the truth before, but then, he had no attachments before his wreck, except for Sansa. Why was it that he had been willing to give her ugly truths back then, but couldn’t do it now?

But he knew the answer. Back then, if he gave her a nasty truth about himself, he could drink himself into a stupor rather than remembering any disgust on her part. Now, he was sober, and any feelings that he stirred in her, good or bad, would be startlingly clear and memorable. It was enough to make him keep his mouth shut. She’d be gone in a few weeks anyway, off to her next assignment. As long as he could keep his shit together between now and then, there would be no need to burden her.

They arrived at her cottage and Sansa stood at the open doorway hesitantly, as though she couldn’t decide if she wanted to go in or stay out. She reached down once again to pet Cooper, whose tail wagged happily at the attention being bestowed on him. 

“Do you want to come in?” She mumbled the question so quickly he barely understood her. She was still looking down at Cooper, not meeting his eyes.

Of course, he definitely wanted to go in. In a matter of seconds, images flashed through his mind of all the things they could get up to if he accepted her invitation. But he wasn’t going down that path again, not after the last time. He wasn’t even sure she _meant_ it like that. But as her eyes finally met his, he knew he was kidding himself. Whatever had been between them was still there – he could feel it – and now that he’d told Sansa why he’d left her and she’d forgiven him, it seemed like she no longer cared about hiding what she wanted.

And _fuck_ , but he wanted it too.

Drawing from inner strength he didn’t know he possessed, Sandor gave her a tight smile and shook his head. “I have an early morning,” he explained, which was true. “You probably do too. Don’t need to interfere with your sleep.”

Sansa leaned her shoulder against the door jamb. “I’m not tired,” she lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. They stood there awkwardly, Sandor not wanting to go, but knowing that being close to her was getting more dangerous by the second. There was heat in her eyes and she was watching him, and there seemed to be a challenge there. The urge to reach out and touch her was about to overcome him when he took a step back to put some space between them.

“Can’t keep doing this, Sansa,” he said roughly, shaking his head.

Her eyes widened a little and she looked away from him, a pretty blush coloring her cheeks. She opened her mouth, maybe to deny what he was insinuating, but he cut her off.

“I’m not stupid,” he growled, perhaps more aggressive than he’d intended. “I…feel it. Whatever it is. But I’m going to stay away…”

“What? No!”

“Not like that,” he quickly assured her, almost reclaiming the step he’d taken away from her. “I don’t mean I’m going to stay away…”

She huffed and crossed her arms over her middle. “That’s what you _just_ said.”

“I meant that I’m going to stay away…” He cleared his throat, still uncomfortable talking about what he felt. When he continued, it came out in a growl, “…Emotionally. Being confined in a small room with you is too much temptation.”

She relaxed a little at that and murmured, “Oh,” her eyes dropping to Cooper. Surely she felt the same way he did about getting tangled up in the same triangle they’d been in before. But something changed in her face as he watched her, a resolve settling on her features. “Listen, before either of us assumes anything or tries to take too many precautions, I need to tell you something,” she looked nervous and was chewing on her lip anxiously. “I broke up with my boyfriend.”

_What?_

Sandor’s brow dipped as he studied her. “When? And why?”

Sansa exhaled a huge breath and leaned heavier into the doorway, twisting her hands together as she refused to meet his eyes again. “Are you going to make me spell it out?”

“Spell what out? You volunteered that information; it’s not like I’m twisting your arm.”

“I did it two nights ago. He didn’t accompany me to my parents’ house, so I had a lot of time to think and I just decided that I’m not good for him,” she shrugged again, but something about her tone was off. It’s not that she was a particularly bad liar – only that he knew her so well, even after all these years, that he could tell when something was missing. She hadn’t said that they weren’t good together or that he wasn’t good for her.

“You’re not good for him?” Sandor repeated, his eyes heavy with scrutiny as he studied her, waiting for a response.

“Right,” Sansa said.

“Okay then,” Sandor said, gaining back the step he’d lost a few minutes ago as she drew him back in like a magnet. “Why are you not good for him?”

She blinked slowly and lifted her eyes to his. She looked a little sad, even as she gave him a small smile. “Because I can’t keep stringing him along when there’s someone else.”

His guts twisted at her words. _For me_ , he thought _, she did it for me_.

This time when his feet compelled him to move toward her, Sandor didn’t quell the urge. Two steps forward and he was towering over her, his hand reaching up to brush loose strands of hair away from her forehead. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, warm breath brushing against his palm as a sigh escaped her lips. His hand trembled in response.

He didn’t understand how he could still want her like this. It had been years since their affair and it had only been one night. The depth of his feelings for this woman was far beyond his understanding. With a will of its own, his left hand rose up to settle on her waist, the exposed skin of her hip so soft and warm beneath his fingers. Her hands lifted to rest on his chest, rubbing softly through the material of his tee shirt. Her eyes were still closed and he took the opportunity to look at her, admiring the minute changes in the lines of her face after the passage of so many years. 

Her lips were the same though, the bottom lip full and pouty. He thought about how often he’d wanted to kiss her, the torture he had gone through while fighting the impulse. But there was nothing in his way now. There was no Joffrey. There was no boyfriend. There were no misunderstandings about what she wanted or what he wanted. There was no reason whatsoever to not just lean down and take what he wanted.

So he did.

He’d wanted it to be gentle, loving, soft; but he was apparently incapable of those things in that particular moment because he attacked her lips with such vigor that she gasped and balled her fists into his shirt. He pressed her body against the door jamb as he pressed his mouth against hers. It was hard, bruising, and so fucking desperate that if he had any thought in his head other than Sansa he might have been ashamed. As it was, she was his singular focus.

Sansa’s hands moved from his chest to circle around his neck, tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck. He groaned into her mouth, moving the hand that had been on her face down to her waist, gripping onto both her hips hard enough to bruise. He tried to tell himself to ease up, to not be so aggressive. But then Sansa bit down onto his bottom lip. With a growl, he pushed his hips into hers, bending his knees so that they aligned better, pressing himself firmly into the space between her thighs.

He pushed his tongue into her mouth, relishing the wet heat that inevitably reminded him of a similar place on her body. The hands on her waist moved up, sliding over her breasts and feeling her nipples harden beneath his palms. She moaned pitifully into his mouth and he ripped his lips away, burying his face in her neck and sucking on the skin until it surely hurt, but Sansa only moaned louder, her hips rolling slowly against his.

He nipped his way up her neck to her ear and let his teeth graze her earlobe, feeling her shiver as he breathed against her skin. His hands were moving all over her – breasts, ribs, waist, hips, ass, around her back and up, until he made it back to her breasts. He couldn’t stop touching her and he couldn’t make his hands be still.

And all while he was nipping at her ear and her neck, she was kissing his scarred cheek, the corner of his mouth, just under his eye and where his missing eyebrow should be. She was driving him crazy without doing anything overtly sexual. He wanted to rip her clothes off and show her how he could worship her. All those pretty words that danced around in his head meant little and less up against what he wanted to do to her. 

Sansa hitched one of her legs up over his, curling it around his thigh and he growled as he ground into her, finally capturing her lips again. His hands dipped down to her ass and he lifted her against him. Sansa threw her other leg around him, bumping against him rhythmically as he pulled her away from the door jamb. He kicked the door shut and strode across the room to her bed. He turned and sat on it, never breaking their kiss as she straddled his hips. 

Feeling bold, Sandor pulled down the low neckline of her tank top and let her breasts fill his hands. She was so fucking soft and warm and he knew he would lose his mind if he didn’t taste her sweet skin. He pulled away from her, eliciting a whimper, which quickly turned to another moan when he licked at the hard little pebble on her left breast. He let his teeth graze the sensitive skin and her hands tightened in his hair. Urged on by her reaction, he sucked her nipple into his mouth, occasionally giving it a gentle pull with his teeth.

Sansa was wild with lust, grinding into his lap and tugging at his hair. Sandor found that her reaction to his ministrations somehow made him want her more and he found himself wishing that he’d gone slower the first time they’d done this, if only to see all the things he could do to drive her crazy. He pulled free of her breast with a pop, only to move his mouth to the next one.

As he continued to give her chest attention, one hand moved into her hair, yanking free the hair tie that held her ponytail. He felt as it spilled over her shoulders and halfway down her back and he couldn’t resist running his fingers through it. He rolled them until her back was on the bed and settled himself between her legs, his mouth finding hers once again as his hands cupped her bare chest.

She gasped suddenly and pushed at his chest and he sprang up in shock, trying to see her face in the dark.

“What about Cooper?” She asked, her brow knitting together with worry as her eyes flitted to the door.

He wanted to laugh, relieved that that’s all this was. Cooper was well-trained enough to wait outside by the door all night, though Sandor would never do that to him. Taking a deep breath to get some oxygen flowing back to his brain, he shifted off of her.

Sansa immediately seemed to deflate a bit when he put distance between them, and though he hated to see her disappointed, parted of him was thrilled that she hated the idea of not being close to him. His eyes finally adjusted to the poor lighting enough that he could make out her face. She was looking at him a bit warily; it was as though she was afraid he would just get up and leave as though nothing had ever happened.

He couldn’t blame her for that. He had done her that specific injustice before, whether he had meant to or not.

Sandor reached over, running his knuckles along her heated cheek, hoping to reassure her. A little of the tension left her body as she pressed her against his hand.

“I need to go,” he told her.

Anxiety sparked in her eyes, and he could see that a protest was on the tip of her tongue. Hoping to quash any more fear from rising up in her, he leaned over and gave her a soft kiss on her swollen lips.

“It’s late, Sansa,” he explained. “Cooper is waiting on me and…” He trailed off, unsure if she would understand his other hang-up about going any further just now. “I don’t want to rush this. Last time, the whole thing was rushed. If we’re going to do this, I want it to be right.”

“You want it to be right?” She repeated in a whisper, her eyes glued to his as she tried to comprehend his meaning. “And this…it didn’t feel right to you…?”

He let go of an exasperated breath and attempted to find the right words to explain his meaning. “It was so fast last time,” he said again. “And it was hidden. I don’t…want that.” He braced himself to say the words she needed to hear, knowing he was about to sound like a complete idiot. “I want to date you, Sansa. I want to be able to go somewhere with you without hiding what you mean to me. I want to hold your hand and not worry about who’s looking. Doing this part first,” he indicated the bed, and her state of undress, which she quickly fixed by pulling her tank top back up. “It feels too much like last time; too much like we’re hiding. Make sense?”

She was silent for a few seconds and he wished like hell he could see her face better. He could see her chewing on her lip and he imagined that she was weighing his words. She exhaled noisily and then nodded, standing up and patting down her hair. She walked to the light switch and turned the light on, temporarily blinding them both.

Sandor took a good minute to appreciate her disheveled look. Her hair was down and tangled from where his hands had been in it. Her lips were red and swollen. Her neck and cheeks bore some irritation where his beard had scratched her. And those blue eyes were still heated, looking at him as though she might devour him.

He’d happily let her.

Before Sandor could change his mind about his newest conviction, he stood from her bed and crossed the room, gently circling his arms around her and doing his best to keep their lower halves apart.

“So…” She looked up at him, eyes dancing with mirth. “You want to date me?”

He chuckled and pulled her close again, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “Aye, little bird. Get some sleep for now though. Okay?” He reluctantly let go of her and opened the door. Cooper sat right outside the door, looking completely unbothered that he’d been abandoned for a few minutes. Sandor scratched his ear. “Sorry, boy.”

“Wait,” Sansa was back at the door, shivering a bit, likely because the cool air was a bit much on her heated skin.

He turned back to her, brows raised. She smiled at him shyly before throwing her arms around him again and giving him one last kiss.

“Good night,” she said as she pulled away from him reluctantly and moved back into her cottage.

“Night,” he said, feeling the unfamiliar pull of a smile on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is taking so long to finish, but the remaining updates are probably going to be spread out similarly. My original goal was to finish posting this by April, but that probably won't happen.
> 
> Thank you to EVERYONE reading and commenting and enjoying this story! I know it's been a little more depressing than Skin Deep, but I love it and I live for a little bit of angst. Hope it hasn't depressed y'all too bad.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Things get heated at the end of this chapter and may even be bordering on explicit so...just be warned.

Sansa came awake slowly, the morning chill touching her skin where she’d kicked off her covers. As soon as she was fully conscious, she found herself smiling with her eyes still closed. She touched her lips, remembering how Sandor’s mouth had felt there. How she wished he was here now so they could repeat last night’s actions. But she understood and respected his need for them to go slower this time. 

She opened her eyes finally and blinked at the bright sunlight streaming through her window. She had woken before her alarm. She reached over and turned it off, deciding to go ahead and shower. She was too excited to go back to sleep. 

However, after showering she realized a few things: one, she still didn’t have a way to contact Sandor without simply running into him because they hadn’t exchanged phone numbers; two, she didn’t even know where his cottage was located, so she couldn’t go bang on his door and demand another hot make-out session. Feeling anxious about the extra time she had since she’d woken up early, she dressed in her scrubs and threw on a cardigan. It was beginning to get quite chilly outside and she knew that it felt significantly cooler down by the water. She made her way to the shore, thinking that a walk would help expend some energy while she waited for the dining hall to open for breakfast.

Once she reached the shore, however, she couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped her when she found who had beaten her there.

“Are you stalking me, little bird?” He had seen her as she crested the hill. He was squatted down in the sand and pebbles, scratching Cooper’s belly.

“Had no idea you’d be up so early,” she told him as she closed the distance between them. “But the thought of trying to find your cottage _did_ cross my mind.”

Sandor stood up and reached for her as soon as she was close enough for him to touch. His arms curled around her waist and he pulled her into him fully and dropped his chin on her head.

“Creeper,” he teased.

“You got me there,” she said, playing along as she nuzzled into his chest. “Tracked you to this island, learned your work schedule, learned all of your favorite hangouts…” She leaned her head to the side as he moved his down to place a kiss on her temple, then her cheek, then her jaw.

“And why were you trying to find my cottage?”

She gasped as he spoke the words into her ear, making her a little less coherent. She skimmed her hands up his back, somehow able to discern the muscles even through the layers he was wearing. “Hmm, unfortunately, I didn’t have completely innocent intentions.”

His arms tightened around her and he pressed a kiss to her neck. “I think I could’ve forgiven that.”

Sansa turned her head, seeking his mouth and Sandor did not disappoint. He was gentler than the previous night, but no less attentive. His mouth moved on hers as though he was trying to memorize the feel of her. Her hands went up to cup his face, feeling the differences in each of his cheeks beneath her thumbs. And she couldn’t explain it, would never dare tell him because she knew he wouldn’t understand – but she _loved_ his scars. Maybe it was because even with her eyes closed, the feel of him was so distinct beneath her hands that she knew he was real. 

She wasn’t sure if she could ever get enough of this.

On their way to breakfast, Sansa finally managed to remind him that they needed to exchange phone numbers, so they did so. Upon seeing him small, black flip phone, she was unable to hold back her giggle.

“Gets the job done,” he muttered, giving her a stern look, all while fighting the smirk threatening to twitch onto his lips.

They attended breakfast together and Sansa got a thrill when Sandor took her hand while they moved through the line. His hand engulfed hers, the feel of callouses and warmth comforting her even as she experienced some nervous butterflies. Apparently, he was dead serious when he said he wanted to hold her hand in the light of day.

They sat side by side, their arms frequently brushing against one another. There were things she needed to say, points that she wanted to clarify, but she was so happy just to be sitting beside him, knowing he wanted her there, that she decided to let it pass until later.

After breakfast, Sandor walked her to the clinic and shamelessly kissed her at the entrance, seemingly not caring who saw them. Sansa found she didn’t care either.

Once again, she found her mind constantly drawn to him when she was not otherwise occupied. She caught herself smiling at weird times, but thankfully none of her coworkers commented on it. She couldn’t help but imagine what dating him would be like. They had gone about this whole business backwards from the beginning, Sansa knew. They had discovered an interest in one another when they were trapped in a toxic situation. It wasn’t the most ideal start, but Sansa wondered if they would’ve even met had they not been in that horrible situation, thrown together by their associations with Joffrey.

Sansa had discovered long ago that Sandor had shown her things that no one else knew about him. Sandor spoke roughly and much of his advice was harsh, but he handled her gently. Eventually, even his harsh truths gentled when he spoke to her. And even if the things he said were still hard to hear, Sansa could see the good intentions in his eyes. 

She wished she could remember when she’d fallen for him. Their relationship had been a roller coaster that transformed from fear to rigid politeness, from a mutual disdain for Joffrey to a grudging respect for one another, from appreciation of physical attractiveness to deep affection. As much as she’d considered it over the years, Sansa was never able to pinpoint when she’d first felt love for him. All she knew is that it occurred to her one day, and it was so obvious, so _right_ , that she hadn’t even tried to talk herself out of what she was feeling.

At the time, Sansa had no plans to act on it. She was still involved with Joffrey and didn’t know how to end it with him without the whole thing blowing up. She remembered Sandor asking her on more than one occasion when she would wise up and leave Joffrey, but she was too conflicted to give him an honest answer. She knew that if she ended it with Joffrey, she’d need to get away from him, go back home as soon as she could. But leaving Joffrey meant leaving Sandor too. She hadn’t realized at the time that at least part of the reason she stayed with Joffrey was because it meant being able to see Sandor nearly every night.

It was twisted, she knew that. Her relationship with Joffrey had been horrible and poisonous and she there was a long, long list of things she _should’ve_ done. She wondered how different things may have ended up if she’d left Joffrey long before the night of the fire. Would she have had the courage to tell Sandor how she felt? 

She _knew_ , even with a battered ego courtesy of Joff, that Sandor was interested in her. She wasn’t blind. He may have been an expert at keeping his emotions in check, but she knew him too well by then, could read things in his eyes that no one else would ever see. And she was fairly certain that he knew that she was interested as well.

Sansa wondered if he had loved her too. She didn’t want to think about what he felt now because things were still too fresh and new between them. Plus, Sandor had been through hell after his wreck, and she knew that his feelings may have changed over the years. 

Strangely enough, Sansa’s hadn’t. In fact, she found herself wondering if everything she felt in the years they were separated was just the beginning of her love for him. It was true he had changed some, though not in ways that would lessen her feelings. He was more patient. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t sad. There was calmness to him that she’d never seen before – in his eyes, in his posture, in the way he moved. He had healed his wounds, inside and out, in the years they’d been apart and Sansa couldn’t help but think that maybe they were better now because of it.

Would they have lasted if they had entered into a relationship when she was little more than a husk of herself and he was drowning his problems in liquor?

But no, she was getting ahead of herself again because asking that question inevitably made her wonder if they could last now. It was too early to be wondering about their future, wasn’t it?

Her heart firmly shouted _no_. 

Sansa had never been confused about how she felt for him. It had never been some unexpected revelation that she’d uncovered when she acknowledged that she loved him. Her love for him was not something that shocked her at all. So no, it was not too early to be wondering how they would fare.

At least, it wasn’t too early for _her_.

She supposed that at this point, most people would do the dating thing like Sandor wanted, but Sansa was well aware that there was a timeline that they had to adhere to, and she found that she didn’t want to leave this island at the end of her assignment without knowing where they stood. She didn’t want to separate from him with an uncertain future.

It’s not that she wanted to ask him for some huge commitment, but she _did_ want to know if he was willing to try a long-distance relationship. After all, no matter where she went, it would be difficult for the two of them to see one another. But Sansa figured after everything they had been through that they could manage long distance. If seven years had done nothing to wipe away her feelings for him, she doubted distance would. She decided that it was a topic worth that warranted an immediate conversation.

When she met him for lunch, she got down to business.

“So I’m about halfway through my assignment here,” Sansa said, cutting to the chase as soon as they sat down. She wasn’t sure if Sandor realized how much time she had left, so she gave him a minute to contemplate this.

It seemed that this topic of conversation was the last thing he’d expected to be hit with during his lunch break. His hand froze midway to his mouth and his eyes widened as they moved to hers.

“Oh. Right,” he said, the tone of his voice giving nothing away about what he might be thinking.

“I just wondered if, you know, you were interested in dating me _after_ I was reassigned. I mean, I was hoping that you weren’t just interested in a dating for a few weeks then being done with it…” She trailed off, thinking that she sounded a bit desperate. She was working to keep her tone light, but even she could hear the nervous anticipation in her voice.

Sandor turned his body toward her, but his eyes were now moving to random spots, not settling on her face. He cleared his throat, “What are you asking for exactly?”

Sansa felt a twinge of panic at his tone. She hadn’t anticipated on having to lay out all her concerns. It seemed pretty straight-forward – she had a limited number of weeks before they parted and she wanted to know if he was in it for the long-haul. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as she tried to find a way to word her concerns without sounding as though she knew what the future held for them. She didn’t want him to think she had any assumptions about where this was going.

“You aren’t asking me to follow you or move in with you or…” He trailed off, and the look on his face reminded Sansa of a deer caught in the headlights.

“No, no!” She rushed to assure him, terrified that he thought she might be trying to move so quickly. “I wouldn’t ask for anything like that. I suppose I’m just trying to assure myself this isn’t…temporary.” She reached for his hand, laying her palm along the top of his hand, her fingers caressing his knuckles. “I don’t want to have just a few weeks with you only to lose you again.”

She wasn’t sure how she expected him to respond, but it certainly hadn’t involved him pulling his hand away from hers and facing forward again. Her heart kicked it up a notch as she watched him scowl down at his plate. Had she said something wrong?

Oh, gods. What if he _had_ wanted a temporary arrangement?

Sansa shifted her body back to where she was facing forward as well and swallowed past the lump in her throat. Perhaps bringing up this topic at lunchtime in a busy dining hall wasn’t the best plan after all. Sandor seemed to agree with that at least. 

“Do we have to do this here?” He asked. There was no aggravation in his voice. In fact, it almost sounded like a plea.

“No,” she answered quickly, aiming a quick smile at him, though she knew it must have looked forced. “We can talk about it later.”

The rest of the meal passed in awkward silence. Fear rose up in Sansa and she wondered if she had read this situation all wrong. She didn’t really want to wait to talk about it. She had so many questions on the tip of her tongue. She had spent years plagued by uncertainty regarding what had happened to him and, frankly, she wasn’t willing to put herself in another situation where she had no answers. She had to talk to him. She would make him talk to her only…not now. She knew that Sandor was reserved and that opening up a can of worms that could hurt one or both of them was _not_ something that needed to be done in public.

As he walked her back to the clinic after lunch with Cooper trailing after them, he grabbed hold of her hand, lacing their fingers together and caressing the back of her hand with his thumb. Small as it was, that contact caused little flutters in Sansa’s tummy and she squeezed his hand in response. When they arrived at the door to the clinic, Sandor did as he’d done that morning, pulling her to him and laying a kiss on her that took her breath away.

She wasn’t quite ready to let go of him when he released her. She took a deep breath then returned to her shift.

Thankfully, her afternoon was busy and kept her mind off the odd way their conversation had unfolded. She didn’t want to make assumptions and start worrying herself, so she pushed her doubts away and focused on her work.

After her shift, Sansa went to her cottage to change out of her scrubs. She went to the gym and was slightly relieved that Sandor wasn’t there; not that she didn’t enjoy all the sexual tension they managed to stir up when they worked out together, but Sansa needed to clear her head and expend some energy without distraction. She finished in time to grab a shower before supper, then made her way to the dining hall.

Sandor was waiting outside for her. “I don’t have any training scheduled tonight, so after dinner we can…” He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “We can talk after dinner. About…”

Sansa nodded as he trailed off. He opened the door for her, then ushered Cooper in as well. Once they sat down to eat, Sansa found that she wasn’t very hungry. More than anything, she pushed her food around her plate and stole glances at Sandor out of the corner of her eye. They chatted a little about what they’d done during the day, but it was stiff and formal and Sansa knew it was because both of them were anticipating, and dreading, the conversation that they needed to have.

After they finished their meal, they walked the path back to Sansa’s cottage. Sansa’s invitation to follow her inside was offered innocently enough and she was happy that he acquiesced. The nights were so much cooler now than when she’d first arrived on the island that she didn’t fancy standing outside for an extended period of time. In the back of her mind, of course, she wondered if an innocent invitation inside might turn into something else. But first, she wanted to revisit the conversation from earlier that had been buzzing through her mind all day.

Sansa took a seat in her single chair, while Sandor opted to stand. Cooper, bless him, had been let inside this time, and promptly curled up in front of the door, head on his paws, but his big brown eyes staring intently at his owner – likely able to sense the tension radiating off him.

“You can sit, you know,” Sansa said, waving a hand at her bed.

Sandor glanced over, seeming to contemplate it for a moment, but then remained standing. He looked uncomfortable and far too big for Sansa’s tiny cottage.

 _His head nearly brushes the ceiling_ , she thought with amusement.

Sansa didn’t know what she should expect regarding Sandor’s thoughts on their future, or if Sandor had put enough thought into it throughout the day to be able to answer her. His demeanor was frightening to her because it seemed like he was bracing himself for something and this signaled to Sansa that the conversation may not be pleasant.

Just when Sansa was about to break the silence, Sandor said, “I didn’t forget that you were leaving.”

The confession was a bit odd and it had the hairs on the back of Sansa’s necking standing on end. It was a simple sentence, but to Sansa, it seemed loaded. It hadn’t slipped his mind that her assignment here was temporary. He hadn’t pushed that knowledge to the back of his mind in order to avoid thinking about it. And yet, when Sansa had brought it up earlier, he’d seemed caught off guard.

“Did you expect that to just be the end of it then?” Her voice sounded thick with emotion, even to her own ears.

Sandor frowned, avoiding her gaze and fixing his eyes to a spot on the floor. “I don’t know,” he said. “I guess I wasn’t expecting you to feel the way I did.”

“What do you mean?”

Sandor shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then crossed his arms over his chest. His body language screamed that he was anxious, but Sansa felt little pity for him just then. If they were going to attempt a relationship, uncomfortable conversation would sometimes come with the territory. So Sansa sat quietly, watching him expectantly. He was quiet for several long seconds as he collected his thoughts. “I know that there’s this thing between us – mutual attraction, whatever. I could tell that, on some level, you wanted…me,” the admission was almost sheepish, as if he was a little embarrassed to admit it. “But I didn’t expect you to end your relationship because of me.”

“I told you,” Sansa said softly. “I can’t be with him when I…” _When I love you_ , she wanted to say. The words were on the tip of her tongue and a very large part of her just wanted to say those words to him, to get them out of the way so they’d stop rolling around in her head. _I love you, I’m_ in _love with you. Desperately._

“When you what?” He rasped, turning his gaze to her.

Sansa took a couple of deep breaths and restrained herself from letting the whole truth spill out. “I don’t think it’s fair to be with someone when…when you want someone else as much as I want you.” Sansa’s breathing was coming a little unevenly as her nerves tried to get the better of her. _Don’t faint_.

Sandor shook his head, staring at her in undisguised confusion. “You gave up a future with someone because of our past? It’s just…hard to wrap my head around.”

The words had the same effect as a punch to the gut. She gasped out a breath and then abruptly stood up, taking just a couple of steps to bring herself close enough to touch him, though she refrained.

“I didn’t have a future with Theon,” Sansa explained calmly, though she was feeling anything but calm. “It was never going to last between the two of us and, on some level, I knew it all along.”

“You don’t know that it’s going to last between the two of us either.”

His voice wasn’t cruel, but somehow it cut her all the same. She tried to tell herself that his points were valid, but her common sense was eclipsed by desolation. She reached for him, but his hands were still folded across his chest, so she awkwardly laid a hand on his forearm.

“I thought you said you wanted to date me,” she said.

Sandor uncrossed his arms then, displacing her hand as he moved to gently grip her chin. He tiled her face until she was looking at him and told her in earnest, “I do. More than anything.”

“But,” Sansa said flatly, hearing it though he hadn’t said it.

“But nothing,” he growled, clearly getting frustrated. “I haven’t changed my mind, Sansa. But I think I’m entitled to questions.”

“I don’t want to be with him, I want to be with you,” she snapped, frustration rolling off of her. “It was never going to work with him as long as I wanted you anyway.” She curled her fists into his shirt and stepped closer to him. “If this only lasts for as long as I’m here, then it will still mean more than a year did with Theon.” A huge wave of guilt rose in her at those words, true as they were. She pushed down the feeling and continued. “After Joffrey, I moved on in almost every aspect of my life. I finished school. I have a career. I’m a better, stronger person in every way, but the one thing that never changed was that I couldn’t get over you.”

She hadn’t meant to say that much, and she could tell that she’d surprised him. He’d been scowling down at her, but as soon as the last words left her mouth, his brows shot up and he looked…stunned. But it was too late to take back her words, so she rushed on ahead. “I dreamed of you. The whole time…Vivid dreams. I’d dream about the night of the fire, the bad parts and the good. I dreamed variations of it. I dreamed of things we’d never done, but that I wanted _so badly_. Then, I would wake up, sometimes in _someone else’s arms_ and I’d feel like the worst type of person. Do you understand how terrible it is, to want someone so badly that you can’t stop thinking about them, even when you’re wrapped up in someone else?”

Sandor was quiet, likely thinking she would keep going, but she wanted an answer. She wanted to know if he’d suffered like she had. She gave him an expectant look.

“No,” he answered.

“Exactly…”

“ _No_ , I didn’t hold someone else and think of you,” he interrupted her. “Instead, I always woke up alone. There were no distractions, nothing to take my mind off you. I was so fucking close to forgetting you, too,” he muttered. Sansa wanted to ask what he meant by that, but he leapt ahead of her again. “I can’t tell you what it was like, trying to get sober, trying to heal from the wreck, all the while knowing you were out there somewhere. I hoped you were safe, but I didn’t know for sure. You were lost to me. I always wondered if my recovery would’ve been easier if I hadn’t been in love with you through the worst part of it,” he gave a mirthless laugh and dropped his hand from her face, breaking eye contact with her to once again glare down at the floor. “There were many days I’d wake up with pain in my body from the wreck and pain in my chest from losing you, and all I’d want to do is drink it all away to keep from _feeling_ anything.”

At the word love, Sansa’s heart gave a peculiar flutter and she was barely able to keep track of the rest of what he’d said. She wanted to ask him about it, see if maybe he still felt that way. But no, they were having a serious conversation and she needed to stay focused. 

“I’m sorry you had to go through that alone,” she said, wishing he would stop looking away from her. “I would’ve been there for you, if I’d known. There’s no way I would’ve let you do it alone.”

She watched his eyes close and he inhaled deeply, clearly trying to calm himself. She wondered if he’d try to argue with her since he had a tendency to be argumentative, but when he reopened his eyes, she realized the fight had gone out of him. He met her eyes again, and she noticed that any anger he may have felt with her was not visible in his eyes. 

“I don’t know what to do when your assignment is up,” he finally admitted, raising his hand to her face once again, his fingers sliding behind her ear. Sansa leaned into his touched as he ran his thumb along her jaw. “I don’t make plans. I’ve lived day-to-day for years. Besides, you may not even like me in a couple of weeks,” he snorted.

“I don’t think that’s going to be an issue,” Sansa said.

“Let’s just…we’ve got six weeks. We can see how it goes. That’s…that’s the only answer I can give you right now.”

Sansa nodded. “Okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to appear as though I was pressuring you. I didn’t know if you had thoughts about how this might go. I can do what you’re asking.” As much as she wanted to know what he felt about a future beyond tomorrow, Sansa knew that she had to take it slow with him. She didn’t want to spook him or drive him away.

“There is one thing I’d like to plan though,” he told her, the tone of his voice lighter now, easing some of Sansa’s worries.

“What?”

“We need to get off this island again sometime. I’d thought about Saltpans…”

“Oh! Like a date?” Sansa’s mood instantly brightened and she grinned up at him.

He rolled his eyes at her. “Something like that.”

“This weekend?” Sansa asked, knowing that she was off on Saturday.

“So anxious,” he teased her, his eyes finally losing a bit of the seriousness as they turned softer. He pulled her flush against him, trapping her hands between their bodies. His head dropped down and his breath danced across the sensitive skin near her ear. “That desperate to get me to yourself?”

“I have you to myself now, don’t I?” She gave back, tilting her head to allow his lips to explore more of her neck.

Sandor hummed into the skin of her neck to indicate his agreement. He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth and began backing her up to the bed. He sat on the edge of her bed and pulled her down to sit on one leg (though Sansa would have much preferred to straddle him), and wrapped his arms around her waist. Sansa’s hands slid to the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer so she could return his kisses.

Sandor’s hands roamed up and down her waist, heating her skin beneath her clothes and making her wish that she could toss them away. But no, she would be calm. She could take it slow, for him, however hard it might be to ignore the clench of arousal in her belly. 

The way he kissed her hardly helped the situation. It was a slow kiss, but still fever-hot; and when he licked into her mouth, she couldn’t suppress a whimper. Her hands flew into his hair, pulling lightly as she scooted further up his leg, trying to eliminate any extra space between them. One of his hands went to her thigh, squeezing gently and so close to where Sansa wanted him to touch her that she gasped.

He froze and Sansa thought he might scoot her off of him then so that they could both calm down.

Instead, his hand climbed higher, his fingers brushing the fabric over the center of her body. She bit into his lip and pushed her thighs further apart, granting him access, begging that he accept the invitation.

He growled into her mouth and ran his fingers up and down, applying enough pressure that she could feel it through her clothes, but not enough to get where she wanted to. She rolled her hips into his hand, desperate for friction. The lines he ran up and down her slit slowly grew smaller as he honed in on her clit. 

“You’re wet,” he growled against her mouth. “I can feel it through your clothes, Sansa.”

She couldn’t answer him, couldn’t string together a coherent reply as she moved against his hand. He increased the pressure from his fingers and she moaned loudly, breaking away from his mouth only to bury her head in his neck, nipping at his flesh with her teeth. He cursed loudly and replaced the two fingers with his thumb, rubbing harder against her in smaller and smaller circles.

Sansa tossed her head back as she felt the coming tide. Her thighs trembled and the muscles in her stomach clenched and Sandor’s thumb kept going. She trapped her bottom teeth between her lip, conscious enough that she wanted to prevent a scream from escaping her mouth. Just as her whole body tensed and she was tripping over the edge, Sandor cleaned down and captured her still-covered nipple, biting into her so she’d feel it through her clothes.

She cried out then, attempts to quiet herself forgotten. Her legs straightened and her toes curled, coming so hard that she nearly fell from Sandor’s lap. She let out a surprised squeal at the realization that she was slipping, but Sandor’s arms came around her waist to right her, pulling her into his chest as she worked to regulate her breathing.

He tilted her chin up and kissed her gently.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Sansa commented after a couple of minutes of calm breathing. “I can’t imagine letting you walk out that door.”

She felt the rumble of his chuckle before she heard it and looked up at him, scowling. He smiled back and her heart tripped in her chest. _Gods, his smile_. She had to figure out how to make him do that more often. She smiled back despite her irritation at him for laughing at her suggestion.

“You keep smiling at me like that, I won’t give you a choice,” she told him. “You’ll have to stay here.”

He sighed and looked around at the bed, and then pointedly back at her.

“What?” Sansa said, a little annoyed at his expression.

“Sansa, this is a twin size bed. In what world do you think that two of us would manage to sleep comfortably in a bed this size?”

“Oh,” Sansa muttered sheepishly as her fingers played in his beard. “I suppose I wasn’t really thinking of sleeping, but you have an aversion to most any activity in a bed this small.”

He nodded his agreement and then gently pushed her up so that she was standing. He stood as well, shaking out his hand – which made her blush – and stretching his back. 

“Cooper thinks we’re perverts,” he said, his eyes landing on his companion.

“Oh!” Sansa spun around to find that Cooper had moved only slightly. He’d clearly gotten up and turned his body to the door before lying back down, probably traumatized at what he’d witnessed. “Poor boy.”

Sandor walked to the door and Cooper hopped up, performing a stretch of his own, then looked up at Sandor expectantly.

“He’s probably hungry. Better get going,” his eyes flicked back to hers and she could see the hesitance there. He didn’t want to leave her.

Sansa nodded and strode to the door, looping his arms around his waist. “Go feed the good boy,” Sansa said, going to her tip toes to kiss him good night.

“Go dream about me,” he told her teasingly as he stepped out.

Sansa sighed dramatically. “Dreams are shit compared to the real thing,” she said, then winked at him.

He was still chuckling as he walked away, Sansa watching him until he disappeared into the night.


	15. Chapter 15

The weekend took forever in coming.

The days stretched out and the stolen moments she had with Sandor seemed too brief, even though they were spending practically all of their free time together.

Letting him go every night wasn’t getting any easier either. She had a sneaking suspicion that Sandor’s reluctance to get more physical had more to do with her tiny bed than it did anything else, but she decided to be patient anyway. If he wanted to wait before taking things further than they already had, she was fine with it. But telling her body that was a different matter altogether. She found she was sensitive to the most innocent of touches.

She finally told him so when the weekend arrived. They were on the ferry crossing to Saltpans. Sandor stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist and his chin resting atop her head. It was sweet and affectionate.

And it was burning Sansa up from the inside.

“You know,” she started, hardly believing she was about to be so blunt, “You touching me is very distracting.”

“Hmm?” He hummed into her hair, clearly distracted himself, though likely not in the same way as Sansa.

Sansa shifted until she could look at him over her shoulder. She could feel the heat creeping up her neck and into her cheeks, but she’d already opened her mouth and didn’t plan on chickening out. When she found his eyes, he looked confused, brow knitted as he waited for her to explain.

“You’re, uh, leaving me frustrated. Quite frequently.” When Sandor’s confusion didn’t clear from his face, she bit back a sigh and hissed, “ _Sexually_ frustrated.”

Her face burned as his brow finally smoothed out and the corner of his mouth turned up, a bit smugly if she wasn’t mistaken.

“Interesting,” he rasped.

“It’s really not,” she told him flatly, pouting a little.

“Want me to stop touching you?” It was said teasingly, his breath tickling her ear, and she was unable to suppress a shiver.

“No,” she told him, a bit grouchily, and snuggled further into his arms.

The rumbling of his chest against her back as he chuckled was a comfort.

*

Thick, grey clouds hung over the city and Sansa eyed them uncertainly. Apparently Sandor had the same doubts about the ominous clouds because he was studying the weather app on his phone with a frown.

“Weatherman says the storm is supposed to miss Saltpans,” he shrugged and glanced back at the clouds uncertainly.

Sansa reached down and scratched Cooper’s ears. “Coop doesn’t even have a rain coat,” she said in a sweet voice as the dog’s tail slapped happily against the sidewalk.

“Been saying all week that Saltpans would stay dry,” Sandor groused, again glaring up at the clouds.

“It’s fine,” Sansa said, laying a hand on his arm. “If it rains, we’ll get an umbrella.” At this point, there was nothing that would discourage Sansa from alone time with Sandor away from the Isle. Rain was of little consequence.

Saltpans was larger than Maidenpool, though not near as tourist friendly, Sansa found. Maidenpool seemed designed with visitors in mind with little shops gathered all along one side of the road while the Bay of Crabs lay on the other side.

Saltpans was more industrial and lacked the charm that Maidenpool had offered, but Sansa had been the one to urge the trip to Saltpans, so she didn’t say any of this to Sandor. She didn’t want him to think that the lack of adorable tourist shops did anything to diminish her happiness at getting some alone time with him. One thing she did note was that Saltpans didn’t seem as friendly toward animals and Sandor received several stares whenever he stepped inside a store with Cooper at the other end of the leash.

Though Sansa loved animals and didn’t particularly care that Cooper had come along, she wondered at the fact that Sandor didn’t seem to trust leaving his dog alone anywhere. She opened her mouth several times to ask him, but kept getting distracted.

Later in the day, when they found a shopping mall, a security guard came up to Sandor, eyeing Cooper with curiosity.

“No pets allowed, sir,” he said a bit sheepishly, vaguely indicating a sign on the door.

Sandor glanced back at the door and then narrowed his eyes at the guard. “Service animals are allowed, yes?”

The man’s expression cleared and he stuttered out an explanation. “Oh-oh, of course, it’s just…he doesn’t have a vest or…”

Sandor glared at him for a moment and the guard seemed to remember that he wasn’t allowed to ask for documentation. He mumbled an apology and got lost.

Sansa turned to him, eyebrow quirked and asked, “Service dog?”

She thought he might shrug sheepishly or even give her a mischievous smirk indicating he pulled one over on the guard, but instead he frowned and muttered, “Aye.”

He tried to keep walking, but Sansa tugged on his hand to get him to stop. He blew out a noisy breath and looked back at her.

“What do you mean he’s a service dog?”

Sandor stared at her for several seconds, then looked down at Cooper, who was looking up at him expectantly.

“Not here, okay? I’ll tell you later.”

Though Sansa was desperately curious, she decided to let it go for the moment. She didn’t want to ruin the mood by needling him about something he was clearly not comfortable discussing. 

After their stroll through the mall, Sansa was dismayed when they arrived back at the mall entrance only to find that the sky had opened up in a torrential downpour. Lightning flickered menacingly in the distance and the people jogging through the parking lot looked to be about ankle-deep in water. A clap of thunder startled her so thoroughly that she jumped and backed away from the glass door. She had had enough sense to purchase an umbrella at one of the little kiosks located in the middle aisle of the mall, but the rain was so heavy and the wind so violent that she wondered if it would hold up.

“Shit,” Sandor muttered as he looked down at his phone.

“What is it?” Sansa asked, watching the torrents of rain beat down on the pavement. She knew that the Riverlands had a lot of rain, especially during this time of year, but this kind of storm was something she hadn’t expected. It reminded her of the terrifying gales she’d experienced in the Stormlands. 

“They’ve cancelled the ferry,” he grumbled. “It happens from time to time. Should’ve known they would do this. Storm’s worse than what they were predicting though.”

Sansa turned to him, knowing anxiety must be written all over her face. “How long is the ferry closed?”

“Until it’s safe enough to travel. The wind and the rain will have to die down,” he gave her an apologetic look. “There won’t be any more ferries tonight. We should’ve headed back earlier.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek, eyes fixed on his phone and seemingly avoiding her eyes. “We, uh, probably need to find a room. Hopefully all the hotels aren’t booked.” He gave her an apologetic look, but Sansa brushed off whatever guilt he must have been feeling.

“So book one, or two if you’d rather. I don’t mind sharing one though,” she shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant, though a tiny part of her was cheering with this small victory.

Sandor immediately hailed a ride for them using the app on his phone and as they waited, he browsed local hotels.

“Shit,” he muttered again. “Not a lot of hotel options.”

She peeked at his phone and pointed out the hotel she’d stayed at before she was assigned her cottage. “That one is cheap and clean.”

“Sansa,” he said, something of a warning in his voice.

“What?”

“There’s only one bed.”

She pressed her lips together as she peered up at him as innocently as she could. “How unfortunate. Don’t worry. I’ll protect your honor, Sandor,” she barely managed to keep a straight face. 

He rolled his eyes and clicked on the hotel room, booking it without another word.

*

Sansa had been right to worry about the effectiveness of the umbrella. It did next to nothing to prevent her from getting completely doused by the rain.

Though they only went from the mall to the car, and then from the car into the hotel, they were soaked by the time they were standing at the front desk. Sansa glared down at the useless umbrella as she dripped water onto the lobby floor. 

As soon as they made it to their room, Sandor slipped into the bathroom, retrieving a couple of towels. He handed one to Sansa, then stooped down in front of Cooper. He unclipped the harness and began scrubbing at him with the towel.

Sansa shivered as she rubbed at her arms with a towel. Her skin was covered in goosebumps from being pelted by the cold rain and her hair hung in wet tangles around her shoulders. She was miserable – cold and wet, and with nothing to wear to bed. Thankfully, she’d purchased a couple of tops and a pair of jeans at the mall, so she’d have clothes for tomorrow. Sandor wouldn’t be so lucky.

“Wonder if there’s a bathrobe?” She asked, suppressing another round of shivers.

“Aye, just one,” he rolled his eyes. “But we both know that I can’t fit in it, and even if I could, the gentlemanly thing to do would be to let you have it,” he scratched Cooper’s ears, clearly trying to cheer up his poor pup, who looked just about as grouchy at being wet as Sansa felt. He jerked his head toward the door. “Go get a hot shower. Just save some hot water for me.”

Sansa practically skipped to the bathroom, anxious to warm up her chilled skin. She peeled off her wet shirt and struggled to pull her jeans down her legs. She stripped off her underwear and reached over to start the water. As soon as she climbed in, she sighed as the hot water washed over her. She wanted to stand under the scorching water for hours, but she didn’t know exactly how much hot water they had and she didn’t want to leave Sandor with ice cold water.

_He could’ve joined me,_ she thought. And of course, that line of thinking led her down the path of distraction. She seemed to have a habit of daydreaming about him while she was in the shower. She turned her thoughts away from Sandor long enough to scrub down with the cheap bar soap that the hotel provided and wash her hair.

She stepped out after only a few minutes and dried quickly before wrapping herself in the bathrobe. A little spark of excitement went through her with the knowledge that she was about to be alone in a room with Sandor wearing nothing but soft terry cotton. She stepped out, still towel drying her hair and found Sandor sitting in the floor, long legs stretched out. He was scratching Cooper’s head as the dog laid his head on his paws.

When he looked up at her, it finally seemed to click with him that all she was wearing was the bathrobe, and she watched as his eyes darkened, his throat moving as he swallowed. It was a look that seemed to light her skin on fire and it took everything she had not to jump him right then. Instead she said, “Bathroom’s yours.”

He averted his eyes and stood up quickly, striding into the bathroom. He kept his eyes down as he passed her and Sansa blew out an exasperated breath. She padded over to the bed and plopped down. Cooper watched her and, though she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to, she patted the edge of the bed, beckoning him over. He trotted over happily and put his snout in her hand, though he didn’t jump on the bed with her.

“Service animal, huh?” She asked him quietly. She supposed that she should’ve figured it out on her own. She remembered the incident with the little boy who had wanted to pet him and knew that it should have thrown up a red flag. She knew that petting service animals was generally discouraged, but for some reason it hadn’t registered with her that that may be the reason why Sandor didn’t allow anyone to pet Cooper. And in hindsight, there were plenty of other clues as well because while much of Westeros was very relaxed about where pets were allowed, it _was_ odd that Cooper was allowed in the dining hall, and the gym, and even the clinic. Sansa had thought that maybe exceptions were made since Sandor worked and lived on the Quiet Isle, but she hadn’t really considered the fact that Cooper was on-duty. Not that Sandor had helped her out any by cluing her in.

She wondered what Cooper’s purpose was. Her first guess was that he was an emotional support animal. She had never imagined Sandor as the type that would need emotional support, but then again, he had been through hell since his accident, so perhaps Cooper provided something that no one else could give him.

Sansa heard the shower shut off after just a few minutes and she couldn’t suppress a giggle when she heard some mumbled curses through the door.

“The towel is probably _very_ small on him,” she told Cooper cheerfully. And at that thought, she was feeling warm all over again. She found that she really, really hoped he wouldn’t put his wet clothes back on.

When he finally opened the door, releasing pent up steam from the shower, Sansa was delighted to see that the towel _was_ very small indeed. She sat up, slightly transfixed at how much of his skin was showing. She bit down on her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing at his expression.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” he grumbled, indicating the piece of cloth wrapped around his waist.

“Looks like a wash cloth,” Sansa said, struggling to keep a straight face.

Sandor wasn’t fooled. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Oh, no, I would never take enjoyment from your unfortunate predicament,” she said as innocently as she could.

He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. “Should’ve taken the bathrobe,” he told her, which resulted in Sansa erupting in a fit of giggles.

His mouth twitched as he fought a smile. “You’re getting far too much enjoyment from me looking like an idiot.”

“Oh, that is _not_ the only reason I’m enjoying it,” she told him, and though it was true, she finally let herself actually _look_ at him, seeing past the comedy of the situation.

_Oh, Gods,_ she thought as her eyes swept over his body. She drank him in, starting at his feet and moving up his long, hairy legs. His left leg bore the scars from the accident. From his knee to his thigh, deep, painful-looking scarring twisted the otherwise muscular limb. The tiny towel started about mid-thigh, but she could tell that the scarring continued past the towel. Her eyes lingered perhaps a beat too long on the area that the towel covered before Sansa managed to move her eyes further up. A trail of dark hair emerged from the little bit of his body covered by the towel and crept up towards his naval. The muscles of his stomach and chest were as solid and defined as she remembered. Her heartrate kicked up when she finally met his eyes and realized he was watching her a little smugly.

His long dark hair was plastered to his head from the shower and rivulets of water ran down his body from the ends of the strands. She watched one stream of water trickle from his hair down the middle of his chest and Sansa had the thought that he looked like a filthy dream she’d had on a few occasions. 

Sandor cleared his throat and opened his mouth to say something, but Sansa sat up in the bed, planted her feet on the floor, and fixed him with a stare so distracting that he seemingly forgot what he was going to say.

“You’re beautiful,” she said with conviction, her eyes burning into his.

His mouth snapped shut and the expression that had been amused instantly darkened, but not with desire, but with _anger_.

“I don’t need any empty chirping from you, little bird,” he growled.

Sansa’s hands balled into fists and she stood up, crossing the room before he could open his mouth and spew more stupidity.

“Nothing I say to you is _empty_ ,” she poked him in his stupidly muscled chest for emphasis. “I don’t lie to you, Sandor Clegane. I would _never_.”

His hands went to his hips as he glared down at her, apparently so angry that he couldn’t even come up with a suitable retort. She could tell by the movement of his jaw that he was grinding his teeth. She was mad too, incensed that he would imply she was lying about how she saw him. But being angry at one another wouldn’t get them anywhere, so Sansa took a deep breath and grasped both sides of his face with her hands.

“When I look at you,” she said, her voice tremulous from nerves, “you have to know that I see a man who takes my breath away. This,” she raised a hand to his scarred cheek, undeterred when he flinched at the touch, “is just one part of an attractive whole. But it isn’t just about attraction…” Her teeth dug into her bottom lip, wondering how much she should say, wondering if it was too much, too soon. “I would’ve thought that by now you would’ve figured it out…all these years, all I’ve wanted was to find you. I couldn’t let you go,” His eyes bore into her, too intense, and Sansa’s gaze flickered away, settling on his broad chest. “Surely you’ve worked out by now how I feel about you.” 

In the next moment, his hands were raising to her face, fingers skimming the back of her neck and thumbs tracing lines on her jaw. When he spoke, it was deep, hoarse rumble. “Maybe you should tell me anyway.”

And what was the point in keeping secrets at this point? Holding in her feelings wouldn’t lessen them, wouldn’t make them go away. They’d been there for years and Sansa knew with certainty that the feeling would likely never go away, whether or not this lasted past her stay on the Quiet Isle.

His grey eyes bore into her, flicking between her eyes and her mouth, and she knew it was okay. Even if he didn’t feel the same, it wouldn’t change her feelings and he deserved to know.

“I’m in love with you,” she whispered on an exhale that drained her lungs of air. His eyes widened minutely and she heard his breath quicken. She worked to steady her breathing, even as her heart pounded violently against her ribs. “That doesn’t have to mean anything. How I feel about you doesn’t have to dictate the path we take from here. I just…felt like you needed to know.”

He closed what little space they had between them and dropped his chin onto her head. His hands moved from her face so that his arms could wrap around her and Sansa reciprocated, twining her arms around his neck and pressing her face into the soft hair of his chest.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said, and the slightly grim tone of his voice indicated to Sansa that it wasn’t a reciprocal love confession.

She pulled back and nodded, then took his hand and guided him to the bed. They both plopped down, Sansa settling back against her pillow. She arranged her robe so it hopefully wasn’t riding up too far, then laid her hands over her stomach. Sandor stretched out as well, holding the towel closed until he got comfortable, then clasped his hands behind his head, trying to relax.

“It’s about Cooper,” Sansa said, though it was a statement, not a question.

“Aye,” he said.

Sansa sat quietly and patiently, wanting to learn the truth, but unwilling to cause him any undue anxiety.

“Cooper is a service animal, just like I said earlier,” he began, then paused for so long that Sansa wondered if he’d expected her to comment. Finally, he said, “He’s a seizure alert dog.”

Sansa stiffened, unsure what she had expected to hear. She turned her head on her pillow, studying his profile. 

He didn’t look back at her. His eyes were trained on the ceiling and she could see that he was tense. “Scrambled my brains in the wreck,” he muttered. “My body healed, but my brain…” He shook his head against the pillow. He swallowed noisily and still didn’t meet her eyes when he explained, “I have epilepsy.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was originally over 7k words. I split it up because it was just getting ridiculously long, and while I'm not opposed to writing really long chapters, I didn't want it to be too different from the length of the other chapters, so if this feels like it ends in a weird spot, that's why. This one's almost done! I had planned to finish it by the end of April, but that's obviously not going to happen lol. I'm not going to make any more projections on when it will be finished because every time I do that, I seem to box myself in and let myself down by completely missing it. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed! Next chapter Sandor is laying everything on the table (though most of you have figured out what's going on by now). Hopefully it won't be nearly a month before the next update.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I indulge in one of my favorite tropes - bed sharing :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Explicit sexual content.

Sansa’s breath was frozen in her lungs. 

_Epilepsy._

She wanted to reach over and touch him, offer comfort in some way, but his body language suggested that he may not want to be touched. He was still staring at the ceiling and she could tell by the set of his jaw that he was grinding his teeth. He looked angry.

Tentatively, and perhaps against her better judgment, she slid her hand across the sheets and rubbed her knuckles along his bare ribs. He flinched at the touch as though it tickled.

“I’m sorry,” she said, knowing that the sentiment did nothing to comfort him. She didn’t know what else to say. He had clearly been through so much more than he’d told her and she had to chide herself when she felt irritation flaring at his omissions.

Sansa rolled to her side and fixed him with a look. He finally cut his eyes to the side to meet her gaze.

“Tell me about it?” She requested quietly.

“I did.”

She shook her head against the pillow. “No. You haven’t. You told me that you had a wreck. You told me that you were out for a week. You told me about your leg. I…think I assumed that maybe you were asleep for a week to spare you some pain, but…”

“No,” he interrupted, his intense eyes boring into hers. “I was out for a week because I was in a coma – not a medically induced coma,” he added. “I, uh, I suffered a head trauma and some amnesia. The amnesia resolved on its own. But I had times I wish that it hadn’t.” His face was grim, his eyes almost sad. “Once I remembered things, all I wanted was to forget them again.”

It made her head hurt and her chest hurt and she was becoming a little overwhelmed with the emotion pouring from his eyes. He had been grievously injured and had suffered through it all alone and it _hurt_ her. She would have given anything to have been there with him – even though she knew seeing him in such a state would have broken her heart – if only so that he wouldn’t have felt so alone. 

He turned on his side to face her, covering the hand she had on his chest. He was breathing a little strangely, as though whatever was rattling around in his head was causing unrest. “I didn’t think that there was any worse pain than this,” he vaguely indicated the scar on his face. His brow furrowed as he thought about what he was going to say. “And maybe there isn’t, but when things became clear…” He shook his head as though to clear it. “My whole body hurt. Physical therapy was torture.” 

Sansa remembered him listing off his injuries – fractured wrists, fractured pelvis, fractured femur, the catastrophe that was his knee injuries. 

“And I wanted a drink pretty fucking bad,” he said, “Luckily, I slept through all the pain associated with detox. At first, the doctors thought the seizures were part of the alcohol withdrawal.” He squeezed her hand. “But they weren’t.”

Sansa entwined their fingers and brushed his knuckles with her thumb. “You…suffered a brain injury.”

It wasn’t a question. Sansa’s profession meant that she was well-acquainted with possible causes of seizures. It was a simple equation. Sandor had a terrible wreck. Sandor suffered temporary amnesia. Sandor had seizures. It wasn’t a far jump to conclude what caused the seizures.

“Yeah,” he said, though he didn’t elaborate.

She scooted closer and pressed her lips to the hand she was holding. The words _I’m sorry_ were on her lips again – because, more than anything, she was so incredibly sorry that he’d gone through all that – but she refrained from saying it because she knew the sentiment did next to nothing to actually make Sandor feel better.

“Why have you waited so long to tell me?” She asked him, lips moving against the back of his hand. 

He blew out a long breath and closed his eyes. “What man wants to tell the woman he loves that he’s permanently fucked up?”

Sansa knew that there was a lot to unpack in that statement. She knew that she should immediately admonish him for referring to himself as fucked up. She felt a twinge of irritation, too, because there were other people with similar medical conditions that he was insulting aside from himself. But she lost track of which part of his words should take precedence because she was caught up in the phrase _woman he loves._

It was a heavy conversation. She wanted to comfort him, knew that there was more that he needed to say and more questions she needed to ask, but she was completely tripped up. She felt the smile spreading over her mouth and it only grew when he gave her a curious look.

“You love me?” She whispered.

He looked at her blankly for a moment, as though he didn’t understand the question. The smile on her face only grew, causing bewilderment to flash across his features and then he gave her a look that suggested she was slow on the uptake. “Aye…?”

A laugh bubbled out of her throat and she turned to bashfully hide her face in the pillow.

“Sansa?” There was just a tiny touch of impatience detectable in his tone.

“Hmm?” She hummed into the pillow.

“Look at me.” It was gentle, the way he said it. She turned her face back to him, certain that her cheeks were pink and stretched from the smile she couldn’t get rid of. His gaze softened when he saw her smile and he looked a bit amused. “What is wrong with you, woman?”

“You love me!” She squealed excitedly. 

He had the audacity to roll his eyes at her. “And Dorne is covered in sand. Bit obvious, isn’t it?”

But the intelligent part of Sansa’s brain had checked out and all she could say was – “You love me!” – this time is a breathy sigh.

His good eyebrow lifted as he studied her, and she might have been slightly offended that he was looking at her like she was crazy, if she hadn’t been so caught up in the fact that –

“Sandor, you love me!” She squealed again, giggling like an idiot teenager even though she was supposed to be a grown-up and very wizened twenty-seven-year-old.

He sighed in exasperation and closed his eyes, pulling his hand away from hers to pinch the bridge of his nose, all in some grand and annoying display to prove how exhausting she was. “Aye, little bird, I love you. I’ve loved you for years.” Sweet words, though they were said in a flat tone.

“Do _not_ get impatient with me, sir!” She scooted closer and pinched at an exposed nipple. “I will not have you taking the wind of out of my sails!”

His expression turned thoughtful and he said, “I always preferred the term ‘pissed in my cornflakes’…”

Sansa’s face was beginning to hurt from smiling so much, so she tried to settle herself by taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. Maybe she should have known he loved her. Maybe it _was_ obvious – or would have been had they not been through all this trauma and years of separation. The smile faded a bit and she opened her eyes.

“The truth is,” she said, her voice sounding small as she allowed herself to remember the pain of the past, “after I left Joffrey and went back home, I felt like I _knew_. I remember feeling so clearly that you must have loved me. There had just been so much between us…” She trailed off, remembering how she felt all those nights when she sought him out at Club Fury. She remembered how her heart would skip a beat at the sight of him, how he’d always worn a scowl but as soon as he spotted her, his features would soften. She remembered asking him why he’d saved her the night the club burned. His answer had been, _“I’d walk through hell to keep you from harm”_ , and really, if that wasn’t love, then what was?

He cleared his throat and spoke lowly, his voice a gravelly rumble. “Then why are you surprised?”

Her brow crinkled and she allowed herself to remember the pain, the fear of not knowing what had happened, the possibility that he’d seen everything they’d done as a mistake. “I think I…forgot,” she answered lamely. It sounded pathetic even to her own ears, but that was the gist of it. “It all happened so fast…the club burning, _us_ , Joffrey finding out, and then I was on my way home and I didn’t hear from you.” She shrugged, her eyes flitting away from him in shame. “I thought…I thought we’d find a way to contact one another eventually. For _months,_ I just waited…” She trailed off, not wanting to make him feel guilty because now she _knew_. He’d had as little control over the situation as she had – right? Her eyes flickered back to his face, and he must have known what she was thinking then because he looked almost guilty. 

“I told you I didn’t try to find you,” he said, taking a steadying breath, “because once I was well enough…it took a long time, Sansa. Too much time had passed…”

She snorted softly, her eyes lifted to the ceiling as she tried to get a handle on her emotions, “Clearly not.”

“I _hate_ that we lost that time, Sansa, but,” he moved closer to her until she could feel the brush of his breath against her cheek, “I am so fucking thankful you found me.”

Her head turned to the side and she met his eyes, his gaze full of heat. She was aware that her breathing was a little labored and her chest rose and fell, catching his attention. How was it that he could just look at her with not even the promise of a touch and her body would react? Her nipples hardened beneath the material of the robe. He watched the gentle heaving of her chest, then slowly, his eyes slid back to hers.

Sandor closed the space between them and lifted up on an elbow, never breaking his stare. Slowly, he slid his hand toward the belt of her robe. She watched as his hand gripped the knot before her eyes cut back to his face. Unadulterated desire flared in his eyes, the silver pools going a shade darker. Sansa’s blood pounded through her body, a heated ache settling between her legs. She squeezed her thighs together in an attempt to ease the discomfort and he saw it.

“Sansa,” it came out as a growl at the same time he tore the knot loose, letting the robe fall open. 

She gasped as the cool air hit her skin and she arched her back slightly beneath his gaze causing the robe to fall open further. She reached for the hand that had untied the belt. He had pulled back as he stared at her. Now, she laid her hand atop his, curling her fingers into the spaces between his and whispered his name.

Sandor seemed to realize that there was a question there, an offer, or maybe a plea and he obliged immediately, pulling his hand away from hers as it slid into the open folds of the robe and landed on her belly. He dragged his fingers up, the calloused tips bumping along her ribs. He traced a line along the underside of her breast, watching her face all the while. His thumb slid up and rolled over her hardened nipple and she whimpered, pushing up, desperate for more contact. In response, he pinched the hard pebble between his thumb and middle finger.

Her fingers curled into the sheets and her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she fought to keep quiet. Her eyes were closed as she focused on the feeling of his hands on her skin. Moments ago, she’d been cold, but now her skin felt hot. She sucked in a deep breath when she felt Sandor’s beard graze her collarbone as he rested his head in the crook of her neck. She leaned her head into his, rubbing his bearded cheek with her own. She uncurled her fingers from the sheet and reached up to place her hand on his again, her fingers sliding around his wrist.

He stopped moving his hand and she felt him shift his head away. When she opened her eyes he was leaning over her, his brow wrinkled as he studied her face. Her fingers were trembling, but she tightened her hold on his wrist and guided it down her body, only stopping when she reached the spot where she wanted his touch the most. And Sandor didn’t disappoint.

As much as Sansa wanted to close her eyes and focus on the feeling again, she fought to keep them open, watching his face as he trailed the tips of his fingers through the wetness gathering between her legs. His eyes were softer than she’d ever seen them. If she’d been thoroughly analyzing the situation, she may have thought it strange that his eyes were so gentle when she had expected a more primal reaction. As it was, she was lost – in the feeling, in the look he was giving her…

Sandor dropped his head again, pressing his forehead to hers, but he didn’t close his eyes and neither did she. Though it was harder for her to get a look at him like this, she held as much eye contact as she could. She watched his brow furrow slightly as his thumb snuck into her folds, pressing down on her clit until she gasped. Not a second later, one long finger slid inside, curling upward. In response, Sansa’s straightened legs bent, feet planted on the mattress, and her knees fell open, giving him better access. Intrigued with his ministrations, she raised up on her elbows, finally breaking eye contact as she looked down between her legs at what he was doing to her.

When Sandor saw her watching, he very deliberately added a second finger, plunging in and curling up as deep as he could, reaching something inside her that made her hips jerk as she sought more stimulation. As he scooted closer to her, roughly pushing in and pulling out, she felt the hardness of him slide against the outside of her thigh. She reached up with her right hand, pressing it against his right cheek so that he would turn back to her. Sansa guided his face closer to hers and pressed a sweet kiss to his mouth.

The contrast in what he was doing between her legs and the gentleness of his mouth made her heart clench. A wave of emotions hit her and, embarrassingly, she felt hot tears gathering in her eyes. _Don’t fall,_ she begged them. _Don’t cry. He’ll think I’m ridiculous if I cry._

It was like she was living one of the thousands of dreams she’d had of him, but it was so much better, so much sweeter. And as his mouth opened and closed slowly over hers, thoughts came into her head that she could no longer keep silent. Her fingers tangled in his thick beard as she continued to hold his face, then she told him in a hoarse whisper against his mouth, “I never stopped wanting you. All these years I thought you were gone for good, but I never…” She trailed off as he nipped her bottom lip. 

“Crazy bird,” he muttered, but the affection in his voice was clear. The lazy tempo he’d set with his fingers increased slightly, and his thumb, that had been resting on her clit, began to move in slow circles. Sansa’s breath hitched at the sensation.

The pace of his fingers picked up speed again, thrusting deep, hitting that spot that made her shudder every time his fingers came in contact with it. Her hips began to jerk more aggressively, seeking out the sweet torture every time he withdrew from her. Her breath was ragged and a sheen of sweat now layered her body. Her eyes snapped back open, wanting to see Sandor, only to find that he was staring at her intently as his fingers worked their magic.

He leaned until their foreheads touched again, then their noses, and then he swept his tongue along her bottom lip. Sansa’s own tongue darted out to meet his and he groaned into her mouth. He pulled away from her, Sansa feeling bereft only a moment before his mouth landed on her breast, his lips wrapping around a hard, pink nipple. The contact sent an electric shock of desire straight to where he was working between her thighs and her hips began jerking in earnest again.

As he fucked her with his fingers, his thumb found a steadier rhythm against her clit, pressing down hard every third or fourth thrust. Sansa panted in need, so close to falling that she could concentrate on nothing else. He sucked her nipple hard and her body bowed. She went up onto her toes as she lifted her hips, grinding into his hand.

“Come for me, baby,” he growled against her breast, and as soon as she felt the sweet sting of his teeth sinking gently into her breast, she did. She came apart, clenching around his fingers, crying out incoherently as she came down rapidly.

Then his mouth was on hers again, more aggressive than before. Her fingers plunged into his hair, holding his head between her hands as he kissed her. She was feeling so much that the threat of tears was still very real. She felt like she couldn’t do without his hands on her for another second and she pulled away from his mouth only to shed herself of the robe.

Sandor watched with hungry eyes as it fell from her shoulders, exposing bare skin. His eyes moved over her quickly, almost like he couldn’t decide where to look. She wanted him to touch her so badly, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to do so. Just when she considered begging him, he lifted his hand, the back of his fingers brushing along her throat.

Sansa closed her eyes as he moved his hand, fingertips skimming along the dip at her collarbone, moving up until his hand curved along her shoulder. His thumb moved in slow circles. She was startled when she heard a soft laugh rumble out of him.

Her eyes opened. She was even more startled to find him looking a little…mischievous. “What?”

His lips curled into a wry smile and his eyes dropped as he shook his head. “So much perfection.” He nodded toward her breasts. “Pretty teets. Pretty cunt.” The words were explicit enough that Sansa felt like her face was on fire and when Sandor glanced back up, his grin grew. “But here I am, fucking obsessed over these freckles,” he squeezed her shoulder a couple of times to indicate which freckles he meant. 

A laugh bubbled out of her then and she dropped her head to look down at said freckles. “Well, they are pretty irresistible,” she teased, grinning back at him.

“Every part of you is irresistible,” he said seriously, the smile falling from his face to be replaced by that hungry look.

Sansa’s throat went dry and her breath hitched. “Lie down,” she ordered him, having no idea where this sudden bossy attitude was coming from. She was just so tired of waiting. She tossed a wary look over at Cooper, lying dutifully in the spot that Sandor had left him, giving her what she could only assume was a long-suffering look.

_Sorry, buddy_ , she thought. His big brown eyes blinked and he looked away, releasing a deep breath. She bit her lip to stop from giggling and turned her attention back to Sandor. He hadn’t moved yet, watching her observation of Cooper with some amusement. She gave him a pointed look and gently cleared her throat.

His eyebrows rose at the look on her face and he rushed to comply then. He rolled over and then scooted until his back was against the headboard cushioned by the pillows, and then looked at her expectantly. She wasted no time in throwing one leg over his hips so that she could straddle his lap. The damn towel was still in the way, so she reached down and tugged until it came open and fell away from his skin. Then she very deliberately ground down against his erection, sliding up and down his length, listening as his breathing became a little erratic. She framed his face with her hands, just as she’d done earlier, the fingers of her right hand moving lazily against the twisted flesh on the left side of his face. Her thumb touched the drooping corner of his eye. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to just above his eye where he was missing an eyebrow. They were long past him hiding his scars from her, long past his appearance affecting how he acted around her, but she wanted to show him anyway. She had thought about doing this years ago when she first realized she wanted him. It had been her plan all along to show him that she found all of him to be beautiful. She was several years late, but it was still important that she do it.

Sandor’s hands rested on her thighs, his thumbs drawing circles into her flesh. Despite what he’d just done to her body, she felt another surge of arousal and an accompanying rush of wetness. She kissed his lips again as her hips rocked slowly against his. His hands slid up to her hips, thumbs settling at her hip bones and began pulling her forward and pushing her back. She could feel the slick from her body sliding between them and it was messy and hot and everything she’d ever wanted. With one final slide forward, he stopped his movement and tilted his hips just so. She gasped into his mouth when she felt the tip against her entrance. 

Unable to wait much longer, she moved her hand down to grasp him, causing him to hiss as she guided him into her body. She eased down slowly, taking him an inch at a time, relishing the fullness of him inside her. She reluctantly pulled away from his lips so she could sit up, sliding further down onto him. She shifted her hips forward even as she braced her hands behind her on his thighs, creating an angle that hit an exquisitely delicious spot inside her. She rotated her hips in a circle, her mouth falling open at the sensation it created. Pleasure spread from between her legs to the rest of her body, her skin catching fire as she swiveled her hips against him.

Her breath was labored as she tried to stay in control and Sandor watched the rise and fall of her chest hungrily, eyes near black with desire. She could tell from the set of his jaw that he was struggling to remain in control, and then he told her as much.

“It’s a wonder I’m not fucking you senseless right now,” he growled, his hips jerking up involuntarily.

“Plenty of time for that later,” she gasped. And then, with some instinct she didn’t know she possessed, she slid her hand behind her, past her bottom, until she was cupping his balls. She massaged gently, watching as a fire ignited in his eyes and a low growl emitted from his throat. 

Sandor’s grip on her hips was vice-like. He watched her as she moved on him, his pupils so dilated that the grey was but a ring around the black. Sansa watched as his tongue slid out to wet his lower lips, and then thrust up into her, hitting that sweet little spot and making her cry out. She tilted her hips forward even more, even as she sat back, changing the rhythm now as she moved up and down. 

And Sandor’s hands were everywhere now. They roamed her body, sliding up along her waist, up to her breasts. He pinched, gently, and Sansa bit into her lip to keep from crying out again, releasing only a muffled whimper. 

“There’ll be none of that,” he growled, reaching up to pull her bottom lip from her teeth. “I better fucking hear you, Sansa.” And then he was meeting her, thrusting up as she came down. 

Sansa’s head fell back and she moaned unabashedly.

Sandor, seemingly to determined to draw as much sound from her as he could, slid a hand down to where their bodies were joined, finding her clit through her folds. Every time he thrust up into her, he pushed onto her nub, and all the while Sansa moaned and gasped and made enough noise that the occupants in the nearest rooms surely heard her. If she’d had enough wits about her, she would’ve told him to stop, or at least slow down, but as it was, he was driving her mad and before she could get a handle on what was happening, she was coming, her cunt clenching and unclenching as she tried to breathe through her climax.

His hand moved away from her, both hands once again grasping her hips as he thrust up into her, losing rhythm as he chased his own climax. She watched dazedly as he bared his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, groaning as he filled her filled her, his fingers digging into the skin of her hips. When the tension finally left his body, he collapsed against the pillows and pulled Sansa on top of him.

He buried his face in her hair, lips pressing to her forehead. She nuzzled again the softness of his beard, breathing in the clean scent of the cheap hotel soap and his sweat. His hands were dragging along her naked back, occasionally hitting a spot that tickled and made her twitch. It was the most content Sansa had felt in years, and it was only broken by a banging against the wall.

Startled, Sansa leapt off Sandor, landing in the middle of the bed as she stared at the wall. Cooper perked up and gave one sharp bark. Sansa’s head swiveled back to Sandor, who looked just as taken aback as she felt.

A sharp, nasally voice sounded through the thin wall. “Hope you kids are all done! Some of us have to get up early!”

For several seconds, Sansa couldn’t breathe, astonished that she had actually disturbed the occupants next door. But her trance was broken when Sandor cleared his throat and called, “Sorry!”

That smile he’d coaxed out of her earlier, the one that stretched her lips until her face hurt, made another appearance and a giggle erupted from her, drawing tears from her eyes. She could barely see Sandor for the mirthful tears gathering, but she could somewhat make out the frantic twitch of his mouth as he fought his own smile. And then, as though he seemingly couldn’t hold it back anymore, a bark of laughter escaped him and he collapsed against the pillows once again, his shoulders shaking with laughter. 

Sansa fell against his chest, still giggling and wiping at her eyes, and _this_ , she thought, _this moment is what makes all the bad shit we’ve been through worth it._


End file.
